Eye of the Beholder: Beneath Waterdeep
by Tizai
Summary: Four adventurers delve deep beneath the city of Waterdeep, sent by the Lords to investigate the existence of the criminal overlord Xanathar.
1. Commission

Commission.

"Is this it?" Neysea wrinkled her nose at the decrepit two storey building before her.

"It is," answered the man standing at the girl's side. Then added with a little incredulity, "Are you sure this is where you have to go? The Lords summoned you here?" He looked out of the corner of his eye at the girl, still wondering how she had managed to get herself so far without getting herself killed several times over. All that she had told him about her four and a half thousand mile journey was that she 'had assistance' along the way, any persistence on his part resulted in the girl becoming very quick tempered.

He had found her, or rather she had found him, wandering alone in the High Forest, seemingly lost.

* * *

Morning light filtered down through the thick canopy overhead. Birds chirped merrily to each other as the sun finally dragged itself completely out from behind the relative safety of the horizon.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Targon Crypthound drew back on the bow string. He sighted along the arrow shaft with the patience and precision that his mentor, Forrich Brimsteed, had taught him. Unaware of the impending flight of the deadly missile, the deer continued grazing on the lush greenery of the forest floor. The ranger held the breath and relaxed every muscle that was not needed for the kill, slowing his heart to diminish the movement and sound caused by the involuntary beating.

He smiled to himself, marvelling at the superiority the human race practised over other animal life. He knew that, even had the deer looked directly at him, he would not be sighted. His hunting garb harmonised with the forest around him as perfectly as any elf magic, the green-brown tunic and slightly darker pants had been shaded in areas to match the shadowed foliage. His hooded cloak of the same colour and pattern made him almost invisible from the rear and cast his face in shadow.

It also hid his hair, hair that he knew would cause him to stand out in a forest like a silver dragon among goblins. His straight, shoulder length hair had prematurely greyed from dark brown to almost white by the time he was thirteen. Nobody knew why this had occurred. Some thought it was a curse, others a blessing. To Targon it was just hair.

_On two_, his mouth soundlessly spoke the words he was thinking. _One, two_.

"Excuse me?" a female voice from behind him sent the arrow he had almost released careening over the head of the deer and into the bushes beyond. The animal immediately took flight into the undergrowth.

Holding perfectly still, Targon screwed up his face in anguish of the lost meals and wasted effort. He did not wish to reveal himself had the greeting not been directed at him. Footsteps approached behind him, the person responsible clumsily finding every dried twig in the forest. Targon felt a light tap on his shoulder and knew the words were for him.

"What?" Targon said harshly, whirling to face his irritant.

A young girl, perhaps not quite twenty summers old, stepped back a pace in surprise and fear. Her light blue short sleeved shirt and white breeches contrasted starkly with her darkened complexion and flawlessly black hair. She wore her hair tied back in a tail that fell down past her shoulders. Eyes almost as blue as her shirt looked rapidly from side to side and at Targon, searching for possible escape routes should one become necessary. A short sword was sheathed at her left hip and a heavy pack slung over her left shoulder. Her only other adornment was a slim golden band that passed around her head, just above her eyebrows. She looked uncomfortably warm, even standing in the shadowed forest and wearing such light attire.

The ranger knew that she was a long way from home.

* * *

_Neysea Snowwolf_. Targon spoke the name in his mind, as he had done often in the past days. The girl had asked him how much further Waterdeep was, saying that she was destined there but failing to name her mission. When he had informed her that it would take at least a week, if she knew where she was going, she had looked so defeated that he had agreed to accompany her.

During the eight day journey the two had shaped a friendship of sorts, the girl still refusing to divulge anything more than was necessary. Targon now knew that she had travelled 'with assistance' from Sundice, in the northern land of Sossal. Targon immediately understood her discomfort in the forest, a far cry from the bleak and frozen north. She had been summoned by the Lords of Waterdeep, though she claimed ignorance when asked why.

They now stood before the _Walk Onn Inn_, Neysea's ultimate destination and, to Targon, one of the tackiest sounding taverns along the Sword Coast.

"Are you sure you do not want to tell me what this is about?" Targon asked one last time.

"We will never find out if we stand in the street all morning," she answered, looking at the ranger and then back to the doors of the Inn.

"We? I thought they only wanted you."

"I have never even imagined a city of this size, without a guide I will likely be lost before I even reach those doors. Besides," she smiled as she remembered their meeting, "I owe you breakfast."

Targon smiled back and lead the way to the entrance. Opening the door he motioned Neysea to continue, entering close behind. They were both surprised at the interior of the inn. Though hardly worthy of a king, the proprietor had done a fine job of decorating, furnishing and generally keeping the place clean.

The large common room appeared to fill the entire lower level of the building, leaving only space for a long serving bench along the far wall. A door behind the bench allowed access to what Targon guessed, from the sounds of sizzling and shouting heard within, to be the kitchen.

Six round tables, each with six sitting places, fit easily within the confines of the common room, leaving space for two more tables-for-three along each wall to the left and right of the entrance. Uncharacteristically, no fire blazed anywhere within the room, which remained comfortably warm regardless.

Morning light sifted through several frosted glass windows that had been strategically placed along the only wall that faced a street. Other buildings prevented such convenience along the three remaining walls and so small oil lanterns had been hung over each table. A concave mirror above each lantern reflected light down upon the chairs below.

Despite comfortable seating for almost fifty patrons all of the tables were deserted save for one. Three guests had seated themselves at one of the larger tables, mid-distance between the bar and the door. All three wore long robes, one had pulled the hood over their head, shrouding their identity. The two that had revealed themselves were obviously elves, a male and a female, seated one each side of the hooded figure.

The female, seated to the left of the hooded person, had blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders to an indistinguishable length, for it had been tucked into her robe. Targon surmised that she had recently worn her hood. A silver clip on each side of her head held the long strands away from her face and over her pointed ears. She appeared pale in the dim lighting of the room, accentuated by the deep red robe that covered all but her face and hands. The index finger of her right hand was decorated with a ring, but Targon could not make out any details.

To the right of the hooded figure sat the male elf. He had light brown hair, cut short to a few inches. A white robe rested lightly on the man's shoulders which, unlike his female counterpart, he allowed to fall low around his neck and folded high up his forearms. Targon could see a little of the black shirt that the elf wore beneath his robe.

Nothing more than the dark blue robe, trimmed in golden thread, could be ascertained about the figure seated between the elves.

They talked quietly amongst themselves until a serving girl approached with a tray. Sitting back, the three waited patiently for the girl to place a drink in front of each, recommencing their discussion after she had left.

"Welcome to the Walk Onn Inn!" a man boomed at the two newcomers from across the room. He was of average height and build, approaching middle age. Walking around from his position behind the bar, the man fixed his gaze on Neysea.

"You mus' be Neysea Snowwolf!" the man continued, his voice retaining its boisterousness though he now stood two feet from the couple. He then shifted his eyes to Targon, looking him up and down. "And Feonax the Conquerer? My, ya not quite what I 'spected!"

"I-I, my name is not Feonax the Conquerer," the ranger stammered, frowning at the innkeeper in confusion and wondering how he knew Neysea and claimed to know Targon himself.

"Is not?" the man turned his head and looked back to the three seated at the table. All three had fallen silent and now stared fixedly at the new arrivals.

"Let them in Borgash," commanded the hooded man, his deep voice betraying his gender. He waved Targon and Neysea to be seated. Neysea took hold of the ranger's hand and led him over to the table. They sat opposite the three current occupants, leaving a comfortable space between the two elves.

"Feonax will not be able to attend I am afraid," the hooded man said after Targon and Neysea had settled themselves, "he was proven unworthy."

"Unworthy? Unworthy for what?" Neysea said, squinting slightly in a futile attempt to see the man's face.

Targon, however was glancing sporadically at the two elves, trying to discover as much about each as possible. He noticed almost immediately that the male was in fact a half-elf. His ears were not quite pointed and his facial structure was more dense and less refined than that of the elves he had seen. He had brown eyes, matching almost exactly his hair colour.

The female was most definitely an elf however, with her light coloured hair, her smooth, cultured face and her violet, almond shaped eyes she could be little else. Her ring was a small gold band set with a single gemstone of an unfathomable purple, such as Targon had never seen before. His gaze caught in it, he wanted to reach out and touch it, look closely into it. Someone cleared their throat loudly and Targon looked at the elf, seeing her violet eyes burning into him. He quickly looked down at his own hands, his fingers wrung together on the table before him.

"What is your name?" the hooded man demanded with a raised voice, his head turned toward the ranger.

Targon's eyes flicked to the man's hooded face. Feeling like a chastised child, he answered, "Targon Crypthound."

"Crypthound," the deep voice repeated, his head bobbed once. Then the man slid a hand into the folds of his robe and produced a roll of parchment. He passed it to his right and the half-elf unrolled it. His brown eyes perused the missive quickly, his mouth moving slightly as he did so. Targon could not discern any of the words except the last, which was mouthed by the man slowly and concisely; Khelben.

Finished with the letter, he allowed it to roll back up and handed it across the table to Targon. Placing it on the table so that Neysea could also see it, Targon unrolled it and began to read.

_Piergeiron,_

_I have investigated your concerns, my friend, and I am afraid the news is not good. More than that, it is maddening and frustrating. The signs of evil are clear, as you know, and growing. Before I left, I heard rumours of assassins in the city, by Tyr. In Waterdeep! I am not sure what to believe any more._

_I have visited both Amn and Calimshan, these cities have given us trouble in the past. I suspected that our problems now might be their doing, but I find no evidence of it. My informants seem clear of this point at least. None have even heard of our elusive Xanathar. No, these traces of evil are not from outside Waterdeep, but from within... or perhaps below? My magics did detect the evil, but not its source. All of our attempts to find its cause have been for naught. The only thing that we have 'learned' is that the name Xanathar recurs with grave persistence. Where have we NOT looked, Paladinson my friend? Where is it the City Watch never patrol? Where would YOU hide from the Watch and the Lords of Waterdeep without leaving the area of the city? I can only think that we are overlooking something under our very noses._

_I will return to the Council soon, my investigations here are clearly fruitless. But do not wait for me - hire adventurers as the other have suggested. They may not have our biases. Perhaps a new outlook will help._

_Your trusted friend,_

_ Khelben._

"There is great evil in our city and we now believe that it cowers in the sewer system," the man said after the elf woman had finished reading. "We have convened many times and it has been unanimously decided that action, of any kind, must be taken. Therefore, it has fallen to me to select a small band to navigate the sewer and find out once and for all if this 'Xanathar' is in fact hiding under the city."

The half-elf shot the hooded man a look of utter mortification, "You expect me to wallow around in the... excretions," he forced the word out, "of one hundred thousand people?"

"Nobody expects anything of you Falhnen," the man was unmoved by the outburst. "Furthermore, the Council has declined my suggestion that you be equipped from the city armoury. They have insisted that this is a fact-finding mission only and have left it to yourselves to find adequate trappings to aid in your search. Confrontations are to be dealt with at your own discretion, the Lords do not send you to eliminate Xanathar's entire entourage, if the man exists at all."

"What if we are all killed or maimed? Will the Lords accept responsibility and retrieve our bodies?" the elf woman calmly asked. She did not like the idea of death claiming her underground, in a sewer.

"In the event of your failure to return, the Lords will not send a rescue party. However, should we decide that others be dispatched to investigate, they will be informed of your demise and asked to return what they can," the cowled man stated simply.

"And what do we get if we do return, with or without proof of this Xanathar person?" Targon thought he had better find out a thing or two.

"The Lords have decided that, since this is primarily an information gathering expedition, that there will be no reward as such. No pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. However," he continued, determined to intercept any objections, "there is reputedly an ancient dwarven ruin constructed deep below the city. This ruin is said to be home to powerful artefacts and weapons. The Lords are also interested in confirming the existence of such a ruin, however your primary objective will be the discovery and, if possible, elimination of Xanathar. Your reward will be this; you will all be given free passage beneath the city and anything that you can carry back to the surface with you will be yours, by right of conquest. Be it gold, artefact or jewel," the man leaned back in his chair with his head facing Neysea, though none could see to whom his eyes were looking. "We are unsure of how deep Xanathar has constructed his nerve centre, nor what defences he has, so great caution is advised. We also do not know how long it will take you to find the answers we seek, although you should prepare for a few days at least." He paused again, awaited any further questions.

"Why us?" Falhnen asked simply.

"That, I fear, shall have to remain unknown to you. I only ask that you have faith in my choice, I have studied the three of you closely," he waved his hands casually, indicating the elf, the half-elf and human girl, "and have every confidence that you will return victorious. You have no doubt realised that Targon Crypthound was not amongst the four that I had chosen, though I feel now that he will be an even greater asset to the team than the Conquerer.

And now time grows short. I do not wish to hurry your decision, but I must return to the Council immediately. Do each of you accept this task that has been brought before you?"

Neysea looked at Targon and smiled nervously, obviously unsure of herself in the company of the strange people and in such strange circumstances. Targon looked from the elf to the half-elf, if he accepted the hooded man's, who he now assumed was one of the Lords of Waterdeep, proposal then he would be spending a long, intimate journey with each of them.

"I do," the elf woman said.

The half-elf seemed more chagrined about stomping around in the sewers than facing the prince of assassins. After brief moments in thought he eventually nodded his head, wordlessly stating his intention.

"Yes," Neysea's answer took Targon by surprise. He had not expected an affirmative response from the girl so quickly. She looked at the ranger and explained, "I have travelled this far, this is my destiny."

"Indeed," Targon said. "Very well, I too will accept the Lords' proposal."

"Excellent," the Lord sounded obviously delighted with the answers. He then continued formally, "Kathralanarshah Shallowtaint, Falhnen Greenwood, Neysea Snowwolf and Targon Crypthound, you are hereby commissioned into the service of the Lords and sovereign City of Waterdeep. You are to proceed into the sewer beneath Waterdeep on the morrow, your task will be to discover evidence of the criminal overlord named Xanathar and eliminate his influence if it is within your power. Any treasures or artefacts that you discover under the city are yours by right of conquest." He produced a second roll of parchment, "This is a formal document stating all that I have announced, if any loyal citizen of Waterdeep interferes with your progress, this letter of marque should persuade them to step aside." He passed the letter to Falhnen, the half-elf.

"Now, my friends, I must return to the Council. Borgash will show you to your rooms. I will send an aid to fetch you in the morning and he will lead you to one of the entrances that we believe Xanathar's assassins have been using. You had best spend what remains of this day in preparation and getting acquainted. Get as much rest as possible tonight, I can not imagine the sewer will allow many places to sleep."

* * *

Ancient, wrinkled hands held fast a crystal ball. Held it aloft, but did not touch it. The ball wavered gently between the hands, seemingly of its own will, but would have fallen to smash upon the majestic purple stones had the hands retreated.

In the centre of the perfectly clear sphere a scene was played out in miniature. The scene involved five figures; a cleric, a magic user, a warrior and a ranger accompanied by a retainer of the Lords of Waterdeep. The watcher observed the Lords' serviceman lead the four adventurers through the west gate of the city's perimeter wall.

"Master, they think they have found a solution," the soft glow sifting from the crystal ball could do little to banish the darkness obscuring the speaker's face.

* * *

"This is it," the Lords' guide, Arnold, announced once they had reached their destination. "This will lead you to the area we believe Xanathar has been inhabiting." He looked around briefly and, content that nobody was within earshot, continued, "Beware that the Plumber's Guild has not been active through this section of the sewer for some time now, activity in the past has created too much danger for the workers and the location had not been deemed vital enough to finance a sortie to clear it out. Of course we now suspect that the Thieves Guild may be responsible but time is short and it will take time to prepare for a thorough expedition. Take extra care."

A gaping entrance, seven feet high and six feet wide, had been constructed into the side of the retaining wall that prevented sections of the Dock Ward from slipping into Deepwater Harbour. A huge iron grate had been attached to the opening, supposedly to prevent free passage into and out of the sewer, though it now stood ajar. Raw sewage oozed slowly from the darkness beyond the grate, snaking its way through the surrounding rocks to mingle with the pounding waves of the sea.

"I do not think I will ever go swimming here again," the elf mage, Kathra, stated quietly.

"Historians are already marking this date," Arnold said conversationally as they approached the gate. "The Lords and City wish you good fortune and a safe and swift return. Godspeed and good luck friends."

Smiling a little nervously, the four explorers nodded a quick thank you.

"Well, no time like it," Targon said and started toward the sewer entrance. He was almost overpowered by the stench of the place before he had even reached the heavy iron grate.

"Oh I almost forgot," Arnold walked forwards. "Here, this will dampen the stench to a bearable level." He handed each party member a small package. "Crush it with your fingers and wipe a little under your nose. Unfortunately this is all that could be spared, it is not a common commodity. It does last for some time so you should not run out before a thorough search can be conducted."

Accepting the package, Falhnen unwrapped it. Immediately the sweet fragrance of mint assaulted his senses. Doing as the guide had suggested, the cleric was amazed at the difference that the mixture made. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

"It is probably better that you did not know," the man replied with a strange smile.

"Alright, let's get moving then," Targon, armed with a mint package of his own, struggled against the rusted hinges of the iron grate.

Taking one last look at the sky, Kathra followed her three new friends into the sewer.

"Well, this is not so bad," Falhnen said to himself, hitching his robe up so that it did not drag in the filth.

"Oh spare me," Kathra said as she moved past the half-elf, her own robe trailing behind her.

Suddenly a soft rumble sent small tremors through the floor on which they were standing.

"That's nice," Falhnen looked at Kathra. "I told you those eggs were bad."

"Silence heathen," the elf hissed, unamused.

Anything she was about to add was prevented by another rumble, louder and more forceful than the last.

"Maybe we should not be here," said Neysea, looking at the ceiling. A small stone chip flaked off and landed on her cheek.

* * *

"We have them," a voice croaked gleefully. The crystal ball wafted smoothly between wrinkled hands. The voice spoke again, softly this time. Spidery words of magic crawled from between parched lips. Evil words, words that caused all within earshot to imagine a thousand horrifying tortures and a thousand ghastly deaths.

Suddenly the voice was silent. Bringing his wasted hands toward his face, the wizard looked closely into the ball. A twisted, malevolent smile became apparent in the soft glow. The scene in the centre of the crystal had changed. Now four figures could be seen scurrying deeper into a sewer as tons of stone and rock crashed down around them.

Once the avalanche had settled the wizard gently guided the sphere onto a small golden stand. He stood with his hands resting on a large stone desk, hunched slightly from the exertion. "Their fate is sealed," he rasped.

Across the room behind the man, large, sharp fangs glinted in the darkness. Xanathar was pleased.


	2. Chapter 1

First Chapter

"Well that's just great," muttered Targon, as much to himself as the rest of the party. He had been inspecting the rubble of the collapsed ceiling that now securely blocked their only known route out of the sewer and back to civilisation.

"Never mind that," explained Kathra, "I am sure a city the size of Waterdeep has a thousand ways into and out of this place. Besides," she smiled and sloshed her boots in ankle deep waste, "I have a feeling we are going to be down here for some time."

"I have never seen an elf so happy about being underground before," Falhnen whispered to Neysea, "maybe she has dwarf flowing in her."

Missing Falhnen's attempt at jest completely, Neysea whispered back, "Did you see the way the grate slammed shut just before the ceiling collapsed?"

"I did. Do you suppose that this was not an accident?" Falhnen speculated, frowning at Neysea's uncertain, yet assenting, nod. "Who would do that? Who but The Lords and Khelben knows that we came this way?"

"I do not know," Neysea admitted, "but I'm sure that we do not want to find out."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," the conversation was interrupted by Targon's reply to Kathra's assessment of the situation. "We might as well get moving. Greenwood and Shallowtaint, you two –"

"My name is Kathralanarshah," the elf interjected calmly. "Kathra if you must," she finished with a sigh at the ranger's furrowed brow.

"Very well, you two keep behind. I would rather not have the deaths of two elves on my conscience this early in the morning."

"Indeed," Kathra Shallowtaint said under her breath as she followed her new companions through the mire - the ranger Targon Crypthound, the exotic northern warrior Neysea Snowwolf and Falhnen Greenwood; half human, half elf and blessed cleric of the goddess Tymora.

Due to the lack of natural light in the bowels of the great city, the two humans were forced to rely on the illumination caused by various mosses and lichens growing over the red stone of the subterranean walls. Although the dim light only afforded the humans a very limited sight range, this was more than sufficient in the twisting labyrinth of corridors that made up the sewer. The elves had been blessed with natural infravision, allowing them to discern shapes and objects in complete darkness, and so kept watch into any distances before and behind the group.

Rounding a corner at the end of the sealed corridor the party found themselves standing at the entrance to a small room.

"Hold!" exclaimed Targon a little too harshly. They each held their breath as the word echoed around the room, broken only by the random dripping of refuse pipes. "Hold here," he hissed quietly and pointed to the north east corner of the room. "There's something on the ground over there."

"Whatever it is, it's not alive," ventured Falhnen, his elf blood allowing him to see, to some extent, the heat created by all living beings.

"Let's just be careful," Targon said as he slowly stepped out of the corridor.

The room extended roughly fifteen feet to the left and right of the party, and another fifteen ahead of them. It was rectangular save for a small alcove opposite the corridor, and a large rusted door on the far side of the wall to their left.

The party each armed themselves as best they could given their rushed preparation, their lack of experience and their subsequent lack of weaponry. The ranger, Targon Crypthound, brandished a wickedly spiked mace in his right hand and a slightly worn short sword in his left. Neysea the young warrior held just a small short sword of her own, keeping it steady and levelled with both hands. Flexing the fingers of her left hand Kathra assured herself that they would be limber enough to carve out the intricate gestures of any spell that she should call to mind. Her right hand clasped the hilt of a small dagger - a precaution that no mage could afford to be without.

Mouthing a silent prayer of protection, Falhnen pressed a small blank silver medallion to his lips and then hefted a large jagged stone that he had plucked from the wreckage of the collapsed ceiling.

Opening a large belt pouch containing several more of the missiles, he made a few quick, tentative gestures to assure himself that he could reach and throw as quickly and as comfortably as possible.

"I'm a healer, not a murderer," the cleric shrugged when he noticed Kathra eyeing his rocks with a raised eyebrow and more than a little apprehension.

Approaching the large bundle in the corner, Targon exhaled in a long sigh of relief when he shoved it with the toe of his boot, revealing its true nature. Neysea couldn't suppress a small squeal as the movement caused a skull to escape the bundling and half submerge into the filth on the sewer floor.

Kneeling over the remains, Falhnen gently unwrapped them. "Looks like a cloak, or used to be. See how it drapes the arms here? And the arms are folded across the torso," thinking aloud, Falhnen examined the skeleton. "It looks as if he was resting when -"

"How do you know it's a he?" Neysea, having recomposed herself, was leaning for a closer look, though still keeping her distance.

"Well," Falhnen resented his thoughts being interrupted, but was always happy to exhibit his astounding knowledge base, "when working with skeletal remains such as this, the pelvic region is really the only way to tell. The width from here to here is noticeably larger than that in females of all humanoid species, and the vast majority of non-humanoids."

"Oh," Neysea nodded in understanding and decided to turn her attention to the rest of the room.

"Which brings us the next question," Targon looked at Falhnen, "what species is it?"

"And a good question it is too," congratulated the half-elf. "I think the bone structure eliminates dwarf or orcish; it's far too slight. It's far too small to be an adult human or elf, and the skull is too rounded for an elf child. My guess is either a human child or an adult halfling, and judging from the location and these lockpicks I found under the cloak, I would wager my coins on the latter. Almost definitely."

"Very impressive, now can we get moving?" Kathra asked impatiently.

"Sure, can you just hold for a couple of minutes? I would like to study this further if I get an opportunity," Falhnen began to bundle up the skeleton in the tattered cloak.

"You are not bringing that with you," Kathra stated. "The dead should not be disturbed."

Finished securing the skeleton, the cleric spent a moment commending the departed spirit and seeking forgiveness for disturbing its rest. He then stowed the bones as best he could inside his travelling pack and stood up.

"Targon." Neysea caught the attention of the other three and pointed to the base of the door, now the only viable exit to the room. Following her indicated direction, Targon's eyes widened in surprise when he saw clawed fingers thrusting through a small drainage grill in the bottom of the door. Feeling around and apparently failing to lift the door, the fingers withdrew out of sight to be replaced by the dog-like muzzle of a creature. Sniffs and growls were forced through the nose and teeth of the beast as it seemed to discern the scent of flesh over the stench of refuse.

"Move over there," Targon shoved the half-elf and half dragged Kathra over to where Neysea was standing, to the left of the door, where they would hopefully be out of sight should an eye appear at the grill.

"There's a lever here in the wall," Neysea explained to Targon, "I think that it would open the door. I've heard noises from through there for a few minutes, so I guess either there's no way to open it from the other side, or that... whatever it is, hasn't figured out how to."

"Good work," complimented Targon, inwardly cursing himself for being too caught up with the dead halfling to conduct a proper examination of their surroundings himself. It was then that he noticed the distinct reek of a wet dog in a swamp that overpowered even the smells native to a sewer.

"It is a kobold, likely only one by the sounds. It is nothing to be concerned about," explained Kathra.

"There will be a lot more than 'likely only one' if we do not do something fast," Neysea replied impatiently as the growls and whimpers became more fevered.

"Right," decided Targon. Neysea and Kathra, I want you two in the middle of the room, try to get its attention when the door opens. Falhnen, you stand behind me and back them up in case there is more than one."

A little incredulous about being designated bait, Neysea and Kathra strode into position and prepared for battle. Falhnen gathered a rock in each hand and rapidly judged distances and trajectories between himself and where he anticipated the kobold would move. Targon stowed his mace and raised his sword over his head. He lifted his left hand to signal Falhnen to prepare to pull the lever where, from his position to the left of the door, the ranger would get the first strike at the kobold. Falhnen draped his wrist over the lever, prepared to hurl his crude missiles the moment the door began to open.

Targon's left arm dropped, Falhnen's wrist dragged down the lever, the door mechanisms cranked into life and the door haltingly began to rise. The kobold gave a yelp of surprise and joy as the gap beneath the door widened. The creature was eager to get at the fresh meat on the other side, forcing itself into the sludge on the ground in order to squeeze through the opening. The thought of throwing the lever back upwards and crushing the kobold under the door came uninvited to Falhnen's mind even as the creature dragged its legs out of danger and began to stand.

The grunts and growls emitted by the struggling kobold ceased on the end of a soft whistling as Targon swung his sword downward with both hands, severing the head from the scaly shoulders. Kathra and Neysea still stood tense, waiting, neither exactly sure of what had just happened.

"Well that couldn't have gone any better," Falhnen walked out from behind Targon to get a better view of the carcass – a small reptilian humanoid covered in small, tight fitting, dark rusty brown scales. Two stubby light coloured spines adorned the head of the creature, situated just above its staring beady red eyes. Its tail was rather like that of a rat, mused the cleric.

"I almost feel sorry for it," Targon said as he toed the dead kobold and uncovered the creature's weapon, "I doubt anyone would have much use for a chipped, rusted old dagger would they?"

"Let's just keep moving, can we?" Neysea suggested, impatient to get away from the death in the room.

"Pertinent," agreed Kathra, impatient for her own reasons.

Passing through the doorway, Neysea noted with some pleasure that there was indeed nothing on the other side to open or close the door.

"Well, looks like we have our first real decision to make," Targon announced,

"Exciting, isn't it?"

"I am glad I brought an extra change of undergarments with me, that is for sure," Kathra returned with a roll of her eyes.

They had entered a short corridor with a door on the right situated halfway down the path and, at the end, a second door to the left.

"I suggest that we explore as we go. There is every chance that there would be less back-tracking that way, and the sooner we get done, the sooner we get out of this sewer, these boots are starting to leak," shuddered Falhnen.

"Sounds feasible, any objections?" Targon raised his eyebrows and looked at the two women. No objections forthcoming, he nodded and reached out to press a blue gem-like button beside the northern door. "I guess this opens it?"

Gears above them rumbled to life as the door cranked upwards to allow the companions free passage. Sloshing through the mire for a few minutes the four soon found themselves in another, much smaller room. The entire chamber was easily visible from the entrance, even to the humans who noted with some dismay that it was devoid of anything but more filth, save for a pipe on a far wall that was streaming fresh refuse.

"Well, I guess it's fortunate that we didn't have to come all the way back here for _this_," remarked Kathra. "Anyone want to stick an arm up that pipe? Could be a gold coin up there."

"Yeah, or a brown – " Neysea began before Targon interrupted.

"Let's just try the other door."

They headed back to the south door and Targon pressed his finger to the blue gem. Kathra, Falhnen and the ranger passed through the doorway to continue on before Neysea called them back.

"Hey wait, there's something on the wall here. It looks like scratches or markings."

"Let me see," Kathra walked back to take a closer look. Brushing much of the scum off the marking, she traced her slender finger along the lines. "It means _Entrance_, probably of kobold origin. Let us continue."

Neysea's eyes widened in wonder, "You speak kobold?"

"I recognise a few runes, yes. The language, if you could call it that, is taught in some of the more battle-oriented Gnome clans. Know your enemy as they say," the elf explained. "Their contraptions fascinate me," she added sharply, intercepting the girl's next question and walking back over the threshold.

Neysea quickly caught up with the rest of the group as they tracked their way further into the sewers beneath Waterdeep. They walked down a twisting passage that lead through a small room before abruptly ending at another door with a small alcove to each side.

"No gem," Falhnen commented, indicating the blank space where the previous two doors held the button to open them.

"The first door did not have a gem," Kathra made her own indication of something blank in the cleric.

Targon walked into the alcove to the left and ran his hand over a square protrusion in the east wall. Clearing muck from around the edges he ascertained its purpose almost instantly. "I'd wager that this opens it," he said as he mashed his palm into the button. Chains clicked through cog teeth as the door slowly began to rise, almost immediately drowned out by a garish howl from beyond the portal. Soon another and another howl joined the first.

"Close it! Close the door!" Kathra shouted above the din, rushing over and frantically pressing at the button. "_Amadril_! _Amin gurtha_!" Cursing the ranger for his ignorance the elf ran back to the door and pulled a small bauble from one of her pouches. "Do not just stand there fools, be ready!"

The other three quickly realised the danger they were in as the door continued opening and the howls quietened slightly beneath the barking yaps of a single kobold. Standing before the mage and the cleric, Neysea and Targon readied their weapons and stood prepared to accept any charge that may come at the party.

Yaps and howls prevailed as the door completed its climb into the ceiling, but the charge never came. Instead, four kobolds presented themselves at the end of a brief path jumping and taunting the companions.

"What are they doing?" Neysea glanced sideways at Targon and then quickly back to the kobolds.

"I guess they want us to attack," the ranger answered.

"Let me try," Kathra stepped between the warrior and the ranger. Whispering words of magic the elf held out her hand, palm up, containing the small pebble shaped bauble. Almost immediately upon finishing her chant the object glowed bright green and launched itself towards one of the kobolds. The creature barely had time to blink before the missile slammed into the centre of its chest, exploding instantly and throwing the kobold back into the room beyond. The howling ceased with the explosion as the remaining kobolds were knocked a step by the concussive force of the spell. Shaking their retched heads groggily, the beasts soon recovered and began the jumping and howling anew.

"I don't think that worked," said Neysea.

"I am well aware of the fact, thank you," Kathra said dryly, none too pleased with her apparent failure. "I dare not waste another on this rabble, we can charge them down."

"Agreed," said Falhnen. Neysea and Targon nodded in agreement.

"On two," Targon said. "One, two!"

The group shouted and rushed at the dancing kobolds who quickly gained their footing on the slimly cobblestones. Gripping daggers in clawed mockeries of human hands, the diminutive savages grinned in anticipation as the intruders slipped and slid closer.

Not three feet past the door the floor fell slightly with a click beneath Neysea. She shouted in surprise as her foot caught on the edge of something hidden in the slush and she fell to her knees, breaking her fall with outstretched arms. Even before the warrior stopped sliding in the muck the door behind the group thundered to a close, the resulting wave of sludge lapping at Neysea's thighs and forearms.

Hearing the shout from Neysea, the click from under her foot and the slamming of the door, Targon and the other two slowed their charge slightly as realisation rapidly dawned on them - they were trapped.

Taking full advantage of the situation, another kobold stepped out from the room ahead and shouted to the three others before lifting a short spear towards the prone human and leading his own charge. The ranger's attention turned back from Neysea and the door towards the more immediate threat of the kobolds bearing down on them. A large stone sailed past Targon's left shoulder and thudded into the face of the leading kobold, felling it instantly.

The remaining creatures dashed forwards, eager to sink their daggers into any part of Targon they could reach. Targon stepped against the wall to his left, preventing himself from being surrounded and swung his mace at the closest kobold keeping the point of his short sword aimed at another, forcing it to hold its charge or be impaled. The mace missed its target, the kobold not quite in range dodging regardless. Kathra stepped forward to thrust her dagger into the crusted scales in the centre of the creature's exposed back. A forth kobold died on the end of Targon's sword, skewered before it could arrest its charge in the slimy morass of the sewer floor. Now alone against four tall ones the remaining kobold scrambled to flee, slipping and falling in its haste. Rising to its knees the creature fell again, for the last time, a dagger buried to the hilt in the back of its neck.

"Nice shot," commented Kathra, nodding approval.

"Thanks," panted Neysea, grimacing in pain as she tentatively straightened her knees and stood. "Bastards," she breathed after surveying the carnage.

"Are you alright?" Targon asked Neysea, genuinely concerned. "You took a pretty nasty fall."

"Yes I think so, just my knees and arms ache. It was pretty slippery so I don't think my hands are cut or anything, though who would know?" She smiled slightly, shaking off the mud and filth coating her hands. "Where's my sword? And what did I step in?"

A click sounded and they all looked back as the door once again clanked into the ceiling.

"A pressure plate, or rather the impression left by a pressure plate," Falhnen answered, fishing around the area that Neysea tripped with his boot. "It's here, come feel." He applied pressure again, causing the door to slam back into the waste.

"Quit it," Neysea said as the wave sloshed against her calves. "And help find my sword."

"Fine. But it was very intelligent of the slimy little beasts to corner us like that, wouldn't you say?"

"It would be even more intelligent of you to help find my sword," Neysea narrowed her eyes at the healer, "trust me."

"I think I have it," Targon declared as he slithered his foot towards the wall. Satisfied that the sword was against the stone he then slid the tip of his own sword into the guck covering the floor and slowly lifted the handle of Neysea's weapon up the bricks. Once it was clear of the waste he reached out with a rag he had stripped from one of the kobolds and held the sword aloft. "No sense in all of us getting covered in crud," he smiled and handed the weapon back to Neysea.

"You are too kind sir, I thank you," the swords-woman wished that Targon would flounder in the sarcasm.

Bowing with a flourish the ranger frowned and began shuffling around the area that the apparent leader of the small kobold band fell.

"Now what?" Kathra asked, her impatience again finding a voice.

Targon looked up at the elf still frowning, "This one had a spear, it looked like it could be useful."

"For your third hand?" remarked the elf dryly. "I will take a look at the other weapons however. One can never own enough daggers." She began to rifle through the corpses' belongings as Falhnen and Neysea stood watch ahead into the room and Targon continued his search for the spear.

After a couple of minutes the cleric turned back to the mage, who was completing a short search of the third kobold, and said, "The dead must not be disturbed."

Kathra glanced up at Falhnen and roughly jerked the blade from the back of the fallen kobold's neck. "These are vermin, they have no soul to disturb," she spat.

Targon chose that moment to trudge past the elf woman grumbling something about disappearing spears and stinking sewers. He then looked back to Kathra, "Are you done?"

In answer to his question she stepped onto the back of the kobold and proceeded past him, "I must check the other one. Here," she said returning Neysea's dagger.

The four crept into the room that once contained the five kobolds, the only sound audible over the sloshing around their feet being the constant dripping of distant drain outlets. The room was roughly square in shape, each side measuring eighteen or twenty feet at a glance. The only exit was the continuation of the corridor they had been travelling. In a corner a small wooden box supported two packages, keeping them just out of reach of the rancid waste flowing gently past.

Targon and Falhnen walked over to inspect the packages while Neysea took point at the exit to the room. Kathra bent over the remains of the kobold she had slain with the spell and used the point of her dagger to lift the clothing away from its tattered chest. She gasped in surprise when she saw the end of a scroll case protruding from a pocket that had been sewn onto the inside of the rough apparel. Tugging the case free the mage eagerly opened it and withdrew the scroll contained. She unrolled the parchment and began to quickly peruse the runes contained on it.

"Whatcha got there?" Falhnen asked, suddenly appearing at the elf's shoulder.

"_Askar Iskadrow_!" exclaimed the elf, her agitation causing her to revert to her native dialect. "Never do that again half-human."

"My father was an elf. I understand and speak the words as well as any of our blood and I would have you informed that I am neither impetuous nor an albino drow."

"You are right. Please accept my apologies, but you startled me," Kathra said. "It is a scroll that will allow me to better sense magical enchantments and curses for a time. I believe that it could be useful."

"Sounds very useful. Targon picked up some food from the box over there, I guess that the kobolds were about to eat before we interrupted them. It seems harmless enough, not that different to what we were given in the Inn last night, just lacking a bit of preparation. My guess is they snatched it from the surface somewhere."

Finding nothing more of interest in the room, the party set out once again. The ranger and Neysea leading, followed by Falhnen and Kathra. The path quickly turned to the left after exiting the room, disappearing into blackness. Slime and moss clung to boots as the four walked on and soon the corridor branched yet again, continuing into more darkness to the left. To the right the path turned yet again after a short distance, limiting how far the party could see in that direction. Another large iron door blocked the path ahead of the group.

"Well, now wha -" Kathra shut the word before she fully spoke it. A loud splash around the corner to the right sent the whole group into silence. Moments later several large ripples flowed smoothly from around the corner.

Readying their weapons, the four companions awaited whatever had made the splash. Each imagining some unnamed horror suddenly undulating towards them. Long minutes passed and nothing more happened. No sound, no movement.

Falhnen, risking to break the eerie silence, whispered, "What was that?"

"That was a splash," Kathra whispered back.

"An elf _and_ a sense of humour..." the cleric retorted with a glance that was part smile part sneer.

"Human _and_ a bearable stench..." the mage replied with disdain.

"Enough!" Targon rounded on the two and commanded with a fierce whisper, "We've been travelling but for two hours and already you are at each other's throats. From what Khelben and the Lords have said, if we are divided amongst ourselves when this evil appears then we are already lost and I, for one, desire to see the sky and breathe fresh air once more before I fall!" His words were accentuated by the sudden awareness of where they all were and what they were doing.

"Indeed, you are right," Falhnen conceded. "We will stand no chance if we are not trusting of each other."

"If there is even anything to stand against." Kathra pointed out that the fact itself that there was anything more than sludge and kobolds beneath the great city was merely here-say. "But I too bow to your wisdom, '_Ant rell stacia iva i`Nevae_' – 'Many stars are required to light the darkness'. My mother would tell me this when I was young, when I would ask her what the stars were for." The elf gazed unseeing at the strands of green slime tethered to her boots, momentarily lost in the memory, but soon retrieved her wits, "Which direction do we continue?"

"I don't see any way to open this door from this side," Neysea informed the group, having completed a short search for buttons, levers and pressure plates. "I think we should go this way," she started walking slowly backwards towards the darkness to the left, fearfully watching the corner from which the splash had sounded.

"I suppose it is as good as any," Targon said. He too kept one eye on the corner as he stowed his weapons and followed Neysea down the path.

Shrugging, the two spell casters also resumed the journey. The corridor continued for some time before a series of corners left the party slightly disoriented. They faced yet another closed door, large and patched with rust. A lever was situated in the wall to the left of the door. Squelches and yaps could be heard quite clearly from beyond the door, betraying the presence of more kobolds.

Targon quickly looked around the immediate area before pointing at Falhnen and then at the lever, indicated that Neysea and Kathra should stand just left of the door in front of the cleric and then took his place in front of the iron barricade. Raising two fingers of his left hand, he quietly drew his sword. Following his example, the rest of the group prepared themselves. The ranger closed his left hand and then raised a singe finger, the kobolds past the door continued barking casually, unaware of death's approach. Targon closed his fist a second time and then pointed at the cleric, who quickly dragged the lever downward.

* * *

The kobolds instantly ceased their yapping as the door clanked into the ceiling, revealing a human male standing alone in the corridor beyond. He wore no armour and carried only a short sword in his right hand and a mace dangling at his hip. His left arm was held straight, palm out, to his left as if trying to drive back some invisible force.

"Kill it!" Ordered Zop`lick, not of a superior rank to the other kobolds by any means, but unofficial leader of the little expedition. Grasping wickedly pointed daggers the kobolds rushed at the human, grinning with pleasure as a look of surprise and fear twisted its visage. Before they had even taken a third step towards the door, the cowardly creature ducked out of sight, fleeing.

"He cannot escape us down here!" Zop`lick shouted with glee, mud and gunk flicking up from behind him as his clawed feet rapidly carried him out of the doorway with his small band. Wickedly pointed daggers fell from lifeless hands as the kobolds were immediately set upon by an enemy they never saw.

* * *

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander," Falhnen commented after the battle was resolved. He was followed into the room by Targon and Neysea as Kathra once more looted belongings from the fallen kobolds.

The room was small and squared, about ten feet wide. Apart from the door in which they entered there was only one exit, to the left. Just outside of the room, the path turned once more before dividing into two more short corridors. Each direction was blocked by another door.

"Well it is a sewer," Falhnen thought aloud, "it has to criss-cross the entire city of Waterdeep. There is certain to be a few intersections."

A sharp, distant yap echoed through the door from the left. All in the party now recognised the distinct barking of a kobold. No more sound emerged so it was impossible to know if there were more than one of the creatures. Impossible without investigating.

"Shall we?" Targon smiled and raised his eyebrows at the others. Obviously beginning to delight in ridding the sewer of the abominable life forms.

"Sure, maybe they are the ones the Lords are so upset about," Falhnen ventured.

"I would relish any opportunity to drive more of the vermin face down in this filth," Kathra said, grimly eyeing the door to the north.

"I am not staying here by myself, that's for sure," stated Neysea.

Having decided the next course of action, the party turned down the corridor to the left. Three feet from the heavy iron door the floor gave slightly beneath Neysea's tread. Gasping quietly at the audible click that followed, she and the other three gritted their teeth, hands clutching at weapons, as the gate ahead of them clanked leisurely into the stone above.

Small lizard-men did not come flooding out of the shadows, as expected. All was silent except the now familiar ambience of the sewer. Targon slowly dragged his sword from the scabbard strapped to his back, Neysea following suit. Knowing that at least one kobold lay in wait for them ahead, Targon cautiously led the group under the door and into the room beyond.

They entered another square chamber, as the last, devoid of anything of interest. Targon noted a button on the wall beside the door before leading the party through the room and into the corridor beyond. The group was approaching a corner when Targon stopped so suddenly that Kathra almost walked into him, losing her footing on the slippery stones. Only her keen elf reflexes, and a crack between two stones on the wall, prevented her from falling into the sludge.

"What are you doing human?" the magic-user demanded sharply.

"Quiet!" Targon hissed. "I saw movement ahead, around the corners." He edged forward slowly, his mace flush with his left leg prepared to lift quickly in a vicious uppercut, his short sword raised slightly and protectively across in front of him.

Neysea gripped her sword with both hands, swinging it gently from side to side as she walked forward. Kathra, unwilling to waste another of her precious spells on something as worthless as a kobold, drew two of her daggers, ready to throw or stab as the situation warranted. Falhnen held a stone in his right hand, his left hovering around the bag containing more of the ammunition.

"Was it a kobold?" Neysea whispered to Targon.

The ranger only shrugged and watched the path ahead. Leading the two magic users around the corner, Targon and Neysea were the first to be attacked.

* * *

Howling like insane wolves the four kobolds charged, taking the ranger and warrior completely by surprise. Ducking under an ill-prepared defensive swing, Slith`Nar grinned as she saw an opening in the human man's guard. Leaping forward with her dagger gripped tightly in her outstretched claw, she was scant inches from plunging the knife into the man's unprotected stomach before something heavy hit her in the chest. The blow knocked the wind out of her and sent her careening into the wall to the right of the human.

Targon swore as the kobold dagger gashed his right side, his mace attack striking moments too late to prevent a hit. He finished the stunned kobold by swinging his sword downward and to his right, cleaving it almost in twain before the weapon struck stone. Vibrations numbed his hand, threatened to shake his weapon from his grip as another of the kobolds charged at him. He raised his mace protectively in front of himself, unable to do anything more.


	3. Chapter 2

Second Chapter

"Targon!" Neysea shouted as she glanced quickly over to the ranger, blocking the attack of another of the kobolds and then lashing out with her foot, kicking it in the midsection. The beast stumbled back several paces and Neysea sidestepped to intercept the kobold attacking Targon. Kathra saw a perfect opportunity to carry out her previous threat and took aim at the kobold that Neysea had kicked. Her dagger lodged into her target's chest, probably where the heart was. She didn't know, nor did she care, all that mattered was that the creature looked at her as it's eyes glazed over and then fell to the ground.

* * *

Mak`Dor charged at the stricken man before he could recover from Slith`Nar's attack. She had proven herself useful after all, absorbing both of his weapons and leaving him vulnerable for a short time. The kobold heard the human female shout something but decided that he would deal with her after he had finished the man. He forcefully shoved the man's mace downwards and, ensuring that the human's sword would not be a danger, thrust forward with his long dagger. But instead of feeling the satisfying resistance of human flesh he felt the agony of human steel as the woman's sword cleaved his arm at the elbow, then nothing as the man's mace crashed into the side of his head.

* * *

Falhnen watched the attack, his gaze travelling rapidly from kobold to kobold, seeking an opening through which he could commence his barrage of stones. He saw Targon struck in the side, committing both of his weapons to slaying the kobold. He saw the second kobold attack Targon, Neysea kicking her adversary back in order to create enough time to intercept Targon's new assailant. He saw Kathra throw her dagger into the chest of the kicked kobold. He saw a fourth kobold dash around Neysea as she skipped to Targon's aid. He saw Kathra swap a dagger to her right hand and prime herself to jab at the kobold. His eyes widened as the mage's attack became redundant, the creature having set it's glowing red eyes upon the cleric himself.

* * *

_Foolish creatures_, Kak`Tor thought to himself, all too pleased as his plan came to fruition. He would wait until the most dangerous humans were busy killing his kin and then attack at the unarmed one. He always considered himself clever among his race.

* * *

Falhnen did not know whether to throw his missile or not. Doing so may smite the beast, but would leave him virtually defenceless should he miss. Kathra awkwardly turned to her right and flicked her dagger towards the kobold, hitting it in the shoulder with the blunt end. The creature's arm went limp for a brief moment, just enough for Falhnen to make his decision. He picked a rock out of his bag with his left hand and stepped towards his enemy, slamming both objects together against the sides of the kobold's head. The lizard-man's knees collapsed beneath it, its eyes rolled upwards and then Kathra dragged another of her daggers across the soft scales on its throat, letting it fall into the waste.

"Is everyone alright?" Targon looked at the others, wishing his heart would stop beating so fast.

Falhnen walked over to the ranger. "Let me look at that," he said as he pulled Targon's blood stained shirt away from the wound.

"It's not deep, I can bandage it myself," Targon said as he gathered some bandages from his pack.

"Not only is it too deep for a simple bandage," explained the cleric, "but the knife that caused seems to have been coated in sewerage. It will become poisoned in a matter of hours, maybe less." He looked up at ranger. "Fascinating. Now hold still." Falhnen closed his eyes and brought the silver disk from around his neck up to his lips. Whispering quietly into the disk he gently placed his left hand over Targon's injury. Targon gritted his teeth as the half-elf increased the pressure on his side. Warmth flowed from the wound to the rest of his body, ending the moment Falhnen removed his hand.

"Done," stated Falhnen, taking his hand away. Blood remained both on Targon's side and the cleric's hand, though the injury was gone. "How does it feel? I have never performed a healing in a sewer before."

"Feels good as new. Better even. Thanks," Targon replied. He stowed the bandages back in his pack, returning his attention to the path ahead.

While Targon was healed Neysea strode around the corner, sword ready. Kathra busied herself finding as many daggers as she could, even managing to utilise Targon's method of retrieving them without putting her hand into the ooze on the floor. Satisfied that she would not find any more weapons among the dead, Kathra stood and walked to Neysea, indicating her desire to keep moving. They were soon joined by Falhnen and Targon. The ranger was quick to thank Neysea for intercepting the kobold that may have taken his life.

"It looks like another room ahead," Neysea explained, "though I thought it best to wait until we were all ready before having a look inside."

"Good idea," Targon said, "we really do not need another ambush now."

Preparing for just such an eventuality, the party slowly edged along the wall to their left where, because the room opened to the right, they would be able to observe its contents from a slightly safer vantage.

Targon, leading the file, was first to see the whole room. The whole empty room with only one way out, back the way they came.

"Wonderful," stated Kathra sardonically when she had entered.

They turned to exit when Falhnen noticed something on the ground in the far corner. An opened parcel of food had been abandoned, this one resting on a large, flat stone.

"Leave it," declared Targon, "they have probably tainted it like their weapons."

"Perhaps the ones you picked up earlier are tainted also?" Kathra suggested.

"They were unopened," Targon said. Adding as an afterthought, "Besides, I was going to let you try them first." He smiled as the elf narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.

They back-tracked to the previous intersection, keen to explore every inch of the sewer for information about Xanathar. Ahead of the group the corridor continued for about twenty-five feet before ending in the door they had neglected the last time they were here, to turn right would lead them back to the intersection where the splash had been heard.

"We are here now, we might as well explore this door too?" Targon said, his raised eyebrows welcoming any objections.

"Lead the way, fearless leader," Kathra said unemotionally.

The ranger, unsure if he was comfortable with the title, started toward the south with Neysea at his side. Kathra and Falhnen followed. Midway between the intersection and the door Neysea again felt her foot sink slightly, heard the audible click of mechanisms working their way into place. The click was immediately followed by the clanking of the door before them being raised into the ceiling. Gasping, Neysea lifted her foot and stood ready for another ambush. The click sounded again and the door stuttered back to the ground.

"Curse this place and its false floors!" hissed Neysea through clenched teeth.

"It is a sewer," Kathra said, "I believe the pressure plates are to trigger the doors in the event of a flood. Too much water and a door opens, diverting it to another area of the sewer."

"In case you haven't noticed, this _is_ the only area," Neysea retorted.

"Thus far, yes I have noticed. I am wondering if the kobolds, or someone else, have separated it for some reason," the elf wondered.

"This door does not stay up like the others," pondered Targon, joining the conversation.

"So when the flood diminishes, the door closes again," explained the mage, wondering how humans had survived without common sense for so long.

"I mean," explained the ranger in the same tone, "how do we get through it if it does not stay open?"

"Leave the child to stand on it, she seems to enjoy that," suggested Kathra, tilting her head slightly toward Neysea.

Falhnen interrupted another argument involving the elf with his own suggestion, "Why don't I just wedge the plate down with a rock? We can afford to leave that behind and we are underground, I am sure I will be be able to replace it."

"Good idea," commended Targon, "though you are aware that you will have to put your hand in that." He waved his hand casually towards the sewerage.

"So be it. I can think of no better idea," the cleric stated as he rolled up the sleeve of his robe. Producing two of the larger stones from his pouch he began bashing one against the other, chipping away small chunks with each strike. Soon the rock resembled a rough axe head. Nodding at his handy-work, Falhnen gathered his robe around him and squatted over the area that Neysea indicated, his rump not quite touching the foul substance flowing beneath him. He plunged the rock into the sludge, screwing up his face as he fished around for a few long seconds. Finding the plate he pressed it into the floor, the three others looking up as the door was again pulled out of sight, and pushed the sharp edge of the stone into the tiny gap between the plate and the stone floor. Hesitantly he released the rock, exhaling in relief when the door remained open.

"We had better go quickly, I do not know how long the rock will remain wedged like that," Falhnen said.

The party trudged briskly through the doorway and into a large room that stretched as far as Targon could see in the eerie glow of the subterranean fungus. The only visible exit was a short corridor opposite the one they had entered, a door barely visible at the end of the short passage. After briefly searching the room Targon led the party out of the room, discovering that the door was just one of the three options now available to them. Open passages led into the gloom to the left and right.

It was at this point that Falhnen presented an interesting question to the group. "Do you think that the kobolds are able to open these doors?"

The others paused a moment, thinking. They looked at Falhnen then at the door ahead, none of them had considered the possibility.

"Because they have not really been given the opportunity thus far," Falhnen continued. "Or if they can not open them, could there be anything down here apart from us that can?"

"I do not believe that wasting time in speculation is a very prudent course of action," Kathra stated. "We shall just have to be wary, for we know all too well the little fiends' penchant for ambush."

"Indeed," agreed Targon. "The doors make a lot of noise too, we would likely be alerted before they could even fit beneath the opening."

"Granted," nodded Falhnen. "It appears we have a more immediate situation to consider anyway. Which direction should we take?"

"This way," said Neysea shortly. Seeing questioning looks upon the faces of her companions she clarified, "There is a door here, if that remains closed then anything coming at us will have one less avenue of attack. As for this passage, well, it is as good a direction as any," she lifted and dropped one shoulder nonchalantly.

"Can't argue with that," Targon said and lead the small group down the corridor the girl had chosen. The passage twisted through a series of corners before terminating at a dead-end.

Sighing loudly, Falhnen shuffled over to flop heavily against the closest wall. "We are going to be wandering around down here forever, aren't we?" The half-elf leaned his head back against the stone and closed his eyes to think.

Dismissing his question as rhetoric Targon, Kathra and Neysea followed suit and comforted themselves as best they could for an abbreviated break from trudging through the sewer. Kathra rummaged through her various pouches and pockets, taking stock of her spell components and then perused her spell book. Falhnen prayed softly to his goddess. Targon frowned as he ran the tip of his finger over a small chip in the end of his sword, a consequence of striking the blade against the wall. Neysea, having already checked her own weapon and shifted her pack to a more comfortable position, now occupied herself with her surroundings. She scratched at the phosphorescent fungus covering the walls, wondering at how it emitted the cool green-blue glow.

"That's odd," Falhnen concluded his prayers and had been observing Neysea from his position against the opposite wall. "The lichens are scuffed on that brick there," he pushed himself off the wall he had been reclining on and walked over to the girl.

The brick he indicated was the same size and compound as those surrounding it and seemed a permanent fixture of the sewer wall. Upon closer examination, a small area of moss, just below shoulder height for the half-elf, had been scratched from the centre of the brick.

"Did you do this?" the cleric asked Neysea.

"No," she said softly, slowly shaking her head.

They both turned their heads to face Targon and Kathra, who had also ceased their activities.

"What does it mean?" Targon asked nobody in particular.

"It could mean any number of things really," Falhnen answered. "It could mean that somebody, or something, had also rested here. Maybe somebody has taken a small sample back to the surface for further study. It may be food for some minute parasite, or maybe..." he put his palm against the scuffed area of the brick and shoved. The block slid easily into the wall, bumping to a halt after a few inches.

For long seconds nothing happened. The companions glanced warily at each other, each expecting the ceiling to collapse upon them or the walls to begin closing in around them. Then the walls trembled with a grinding sound, stone scraping against stone, as the wall ahead of them began to slide downward. Soon the corridor opened up before them once more with nothing to indicate that the party, scant moments before, had been surrounded with walls to three sides.

"Alright, so keep an eye out for scuffed bricks," Targon said wryly.

They walked forward tentatively, stepping over the area the wall had been in case it had dropped beyond the level of the floor. After a short distance a stench wafted past the party, a stench so powerfully vile it annulled even the potent mint fragrance of the potpourri Arnold had given them. It reeked of decayed flesh that had been boiled in rotten eggs, coupled with the tangy odour of the sewer itself.

Doing what they could to stifle the stink, covering mouth and nose with sleeve, arm or collar, the four stumbled forward, stopping in the centre of three alcoves. The walls of the alcoves had been all but stripped of the glowing moss, leaving the whole area almost completely unlit.

Bundles of shapeless objects had been piled into the corners of each niche. Bundles that were in various states of decomposition and rot. The party had stumbled into what appeared to be a kobold refuse pit or perhaps even a storage room.

With a recess blocking all directions excluding the one they entered, the companions had little choice but to return the way they had come.

"We -," Targon gagged on his first word, pressed the satchel of mint to his nose and took a slow, deep breath, "we should look for anything useful," he finished hurriedly.

The others looked at him so incredulously that none had to speak to convey their thoughts on staying in the area any longer than necessary. They had turned to rush back out of the room when a dart plunged down into Neysea's shoulder. Crying out in pain and surprise, she quickly grabbed the invading missile to prevent it from moving and causing more damage.

Before the others even knew they were under attack, howls and barks signalled the arrival of more kobolds. The sounds came from the gloom above them. Targon had barely drawn his sword when two of the creatures materialised from the darkness, falling feet first with teeth gnashing and daggers pointed downwards. Looking up, the ranger barely noticed a vague black circle in the ceiling that was a shade darker than the dimly lit stones.

One of the beasts set its beady eyes on Targon, whose sword had been scabbarded on his back, giving him an awkward strike at the falling target. The other kobold landed on Neysea's back, kicking her forward before falling to the sludge. Targon held his left hand up to fend off the attacking monster, stepping back and letting it fall to the floor in front of him. Before it could recover from the landing he stabbed it through the neck with his sword. Kathra walked forward and thrust her dagger into the soft belly of the second kobold, holding the creature's weapon away from her arm, and graciously accepting its dagger once the clawed hand no longer possessed the strength to retain it.

Falhnen, ignoring the encounter, tended to Neysea. He removed the dart and placed a hand over her injury, channelling his Goddess's power. They both crouched just above the sewerage beneath them, Neysea hunched over with her eyes closed and a hand covering her nose and mouth. Falhnen pressed a sleeve of his robe across his nose and rested a hand on Neysea's shoulder, steadying her. The cleric looked up at Targon when the ranger approached.

"How is she?" Targon asked.

"She will be alright. I have healed the wound, although she still feels nauseous. We should leave this place, the stench is not doing any of us a service."

Targon nodded and patted Neysea on the shoulder. She looked up at him and the ranger started as her blue eyes flashed with disgust and anger. Recovering her composure almost instantly, she smiled weakly and allowed the two men to help her rise to her feet. The four companions quickly shuffled back down the corridor, Neysea leaning against Targon for support, and soon the horrid reek of the small room had dissipated. They passed the secret wall and stopped at the brick that had triggered it.

"Should we close the wall behind us?" Falhnen asked. "Prevent more of the things from following?"

"That would be good idea," Kathra answered, "though I cannot imagine how you would accomplish it. The brick has sunken into the wall."

Falhnen frowned at the brick for a few brief moments, then turned back to Kathra. "Might I borrow two of your daggers?" The elf hesitated but obliged and Falhnen tilted his head forwards and to the left in gratitude, then turned back to the wall. He inserted the points of both daggers into the small gaps to each side of the brick, pushing the hilts outwards firmly to wedge the tips against the brick. This done, he slowly dragged the weapons back toward him, sliding the trigger out in the process.

Kathra, who had been initially watching in amusement, raised her eyebrows as disbelief fought its way into her mind. "Well done," the elf stated once the brick was returned to its original position, trying not to sound too impressed.

Falhnen turned his head towards the darkness past the sunken wall, watching the sewerage flow over where he expected the top of the wall to push through. No grinding sound assailed their ears. No ripples in the sewerage arced from trembling walls.

"It's not working," Neysea spoke quietly, now very mindful of the possibility that waves of kobolds may pour out of the darkness at any time.

"There must be a second trigger to close it," Falhnen stated, returning Kathra's daggers and beginning to search the walls.

"Forget it," Targon vetoed, "we have already spent too much time here. They can probably open it again from the other side anyway, our best chance is to put some distance between us and this area."

They agreed and sloshed back to the intersection, Neysea now walking without assistance. Targon lead them past the door to their left, eyeing it warily as he did so, sticking with Neysea's plan to allow the iron slab to protect the party from at least one direction. The path travelled straight for a short distance before twisting through another series of corners and finishing at yet another dead-end.

"What kind of half-witted changeling designed this sewer?" Falhnen breathed in exasperation. "Did they not realise that sewerage will not travel through walls?"

A grinding rumble answered the cleric as the wall ahead eased down through the floor. Targon fluidly drew his sword over his head and rested his left hand on his mace, anticipating attack.

"It does if the walls are not there," Neysea said, her hand resting against a brick.

"You should mention something before you do things like that," Targon chastised the girl, his nervousness giving his words an edge he did not mean.

"I'm sorry," Neysea said, and stepped past the buried wall.

The others followed her into a small square room. A corridor exited to their left and a lever was attached to the wall beside a door ahead of them. The door had been opened and the bodies of four kobolds were visible in the sludge beneath the lever.

"Have we been here before?" Falhnen asked, walking over the bodies.

"I'm not sure," Targon replied, "but whoever did this is can get an ale off me any time."

"I shall hold you to that, though I do prefer a mulled wine," Kathra said evenly, her violet eyes following the ranger as she walked past him to the open door. Waving her hand at the dead kobolds she clarified, "These are the creatures that you lead out of this door into our ambush. That corridor," the elf indicated the passage left of the party, "leads to the corner from which we heard the splash. If we were to venture through this door," she gestured again, "we would likely be going in circles and would have to go through the door we have now passed by twice." She paused, waiting for the information to sink in to her companions.

"We can just go back the way we came and get to the door. Do we really want to know what was around that corner?" Targon asked.

"It may have been some clue to the existence of this Xanathar person," Falhnen answered. "If that is so then we would be done with this cursed assignment."

"But might that evidence also be just past the door?" Kathra rejoined the conversation.

"We could split up and investigate both directions," Targon said. "Return to this room in half an hour, that should be more than enough time to find out if it would be worth the trouble continuing in either direction."

"A sound plan," Kathra said. "In theory at least. If we are going to spend half an hour investigating both directions and then return here anyway, would it not be faster, and safer, to follow both paths to the end as a group?"

"Alright," Targon conceded. "We have to do something more than stand around discussing it. I think we should go down the corridor. I'm feeling uneasy about leaving whatever caused that splash behind me. There's no telling where it might catch up to us."

A decision reached, the party walked down the corridor back to the intersection. Approaching the corner slowly, the four adventurers armed themselves once more. Targon stopped at the edge of the wall and pressed his back against it. Turning slightly he peered around the corner with one eye, hoping to gather some idea of what they might be about to encounter. After a couple of seconds he quickly ducked back around and faced his companions.

"Nothing," he informed. "There's nothing there, the path continues as far as I can see."

"How many hours has it been since we were last here?" Kathra asked. "You truly expected whatever it was to just wait around for us to return?"

Targon gritted his teeth, the elf was started to grate on his nerves. "The thought had crossed my mind, yes."

Pushing himself off the wall he walked around the corner, looking back at the others and indicating them to follow. They trudged down the passageway, weapons ready until Kathra shouted something in elven.

Falhnen looked at the mage. "Where?" he asked, tension in his voice.

Targon and Neysea both turned to face the spell casters, Kathra was pointing to the sewerage ahead of the group. Falhnen followed her finger and narrowed his eyes, looking through the foot deep sludge. Suddenly realisation dawned on the half-elf, using his infravision he could see a very vague, but very large, dark shape in the murky water, moving against the flow towards Targon.

The cleric opened his mouth to warn the ranger but it was too late, the mire behind Targon exploded upwards, showering himself and Neysea. The ranger stumbled forward as a long, slimy, muddy coloured creature shoved into the back of his leg, attaching itself. He swung his sword behind himself in a clumsy attempt to dislodge the huge parasite.

"Hold still!" Neysea shouted at him and swung her own sword downward, slicing the leech in half.

A high pitched screech died away quickly as the mushy insides of the creature flopped out of the severed end, though the mouth remained gouged onto Targon's leg.

"Another!" Kathra called to Neysea, pointing at the ground further down the path.

Neysea turned and grasped her sword with both hands, watching the sludge frantically for any sign of the giant leech. She did not have long to prepare herself before another of the creatures raised itself before her. The gaping maw of the beast was little more than countless rings of teeth oozing with a clear mucus. It wavered in an upright position for several seconds, Neysea too morbidly fascinated to do anything but stare, before lunging at the warrior.

The movement shocked the girl into action. She lowered the point of her sword directly at the centre of the ring of teeth, holding it steady as the single-minded creature impaled itself. The leech thrashed viciously on the blade, endeavouring to remove itself before it succumbed to the mortal wound.

Neysea grappled with the hilt of her sword and cried out in frustration before standing firm and lifting the leech out of the muck. The thrashing and dangling weight of the leech forced the sword edge to cut through the top of its head, releasing it from life as much as the blade. Breathing heavily, Neysea lowered her weapon and shifted her stance once more, preparing for another attack.


	4. Chapter 3

Third Chapter

"I see no more of them," Kathra said, walking to stand beside the human girl. "Be at ease." She placed a reassuring hand on Neysea's shoulder.

Falhnen had detached the head of the first leech from Targon's leg and was now inspecting the wound.

"I can't feel anything, like it's numb," the ranger informed the healer.

"Yes," Falhnen nodded, using his finger to wipe a clear substance from around the ring of small holes. "It appears that the saliva has some sort of anaesthetising property." He rubbed the goo between his finger and thumb, marvelling at the tingling sensation in his digits. Returning his attention to the human's injury, the half-elf made his diagnosis, "The wound is not deep, or particularly large. If it is not causing you any discomfort I believe that a simple bandage will suffice for the moment."

Targon nodded and retrieved a small roll of cloth from his pack. He leaned facing the wall as the cleric applied the bandage. When Falhnen stood Targon gingerly placed weight on his injured leg, assuring himself that it would not collapsed beneath him.

"Feels odd," the ranger lifted a corner of his mouth. "I hope we're not going to be running any marathons before this numbness wears off."

The party advanced down the passage and entered a large room. Apart from a pipe opening on the wall to the right the room contained nothing of interest. Targon, Neysea and Falhnen were about to follow the path out of the room when Kathra called them back.

"There appears to be water coming from this pipe," the elf stated, walking over to the wall. She leaned closer and flared her nostrils, trying to determine if the water was fresh or spoiled. "I cannot tell if it is drinkable or not, but you could wash yourselves if you wish," she looked at the bespeckled humans and at Falhnen's encrusted hand.

After cleaning up as best they could they continued down the passageway. It lead them straight for some time before again entering a series of alternating corners. As they reached the first corner sharp yaps and barks were clearly heard ahead of them. Drawing weapons, the group advance on the kobolds.

Turning the final corner Targon and Neysea halted at another dead-end, and a very strange sight. One of the small lizard creatures was unsuccessfully attempting to force itself into a small shelf halfway up the wall. It appeared somewhat frightened and yapped incessantly at the party, flailing a curved dagger and looking from them to the ground below it. There, protruding from the mire, a second kobold was laying face down. A large ring of holes around its shoulder and back gave clue to its downfall.

"I guess this one got away in time," Targon said, pointing his sword at the frantic kobold. "Should we kill it?"

"What for? It's done nothing to us," Neysea protested.

"If it is released it may go and assemble more of them, leading them right to us," Falhnen argued.

Neysea looked at the cleric with widened eyes, "You're a man of healing, surely your God would forbid the slaying of any creature in cold blood."

"My _Goddess_," he emphasised the gender of his deity, "is a Goddess of innovation and good fortune. I would think we were quite fortunate that these kobolds were not given the chance to ambush us, it may anger her if we were to ignore her blessing and release the beast."

The three argued heatedly about the fate of the kobold, which was now dangling quietly with one leg and one arm inside the shelf. None noticed when Kathra began to whisper words of magic. The elf carved intricate patterns in the air in front of her then stepped forward. She extended her arm, pointing her palm directly at the kobold and a long, dart shaped object fired from the mage's hand. It struck the creature through the throat and lodged into the wall behind it. Almost immediately the arrow melted into a thick yellow slime, dissolving stone and flesh as it dripped downward. The kobold flopped into the sewerage amid a small cloud of vapour.

Targon, Neysea and Falhnen gaped at the elf, who shrugged one shoulder and stated firmly, "I do not know why you were arguing about it." She walked past the group and began pushing her foot around the kobold, searching for the dagger it had been waving around.

Neysea turned from the scene in disgust and trudged back around the corner to wait, Targon joined her. Falhnen was about to follow when he noticed something in the shelf that the kobold had been trying to accommodate. Stepping around the mage and the dead kobolds, he looked into the depression and saw some rolled up parchments and a curved dagger. He plucked the parchments out with one hand, shoving them into his pack and then grabbed the dagger, holding it up to the elf. "Is this what you are looking for?" he asked.

Kathra looked up at the half-elf and then at the dagger he was holding. "Indeed," she snatched the weapon off him and walked off to join Targon and Neysea, examining it. Falhnen frowned and followed.

The two humans were discussing what options they had when the elves rejoined the party. They all agreed that, unless they had missed another false wall, the only location that remained unexplored was back on the other side of the door that they had, to this point, decided not to enter. Travelling back past the wall that Neysea had lowered, the group found the door before them for a third time.

Looking back at his companions Targon assured himself that they were prepared to continue then reached up and pressed the blue gem-like button on the frame of the door. The button immediately commanded the iron barricade into the ceiling, revealing the path ahead.

They followed the passageway for some time before it opened into another room. Rectangular and of similar size to most of the other rooms in the sewer, this chamber had a simple yet significant variation.

"Look! A ladder down!" Neysea shouted excitedly, sloshing over to the apparatus.

"You mean to go deeper into this filth?" asked Falhnen, looking from Neysea to Targon.

"Have we found Xanathar yet?" Kathra replied, sparing the humans the effort of answering. She too walked over to the ladder.

"As deep as necessary," sighed Targon, following the women.

The opening through which the ladder passed had been encircled with a ring of small bricks to prevent the sewerage, at its current level, from flowing down through the hole. Peering over the edge, each party member could easily make out the sickly green colour of more sewerage on the floor below.

"Who goes first?" Kathra questioned. "There may be more kobolds waiting below, they must surely be alerted to our presence by now."

"I will," Targon volunteered. "Then you," he pointed at Falhnen and then Kathra, "and then you. Neysea, you watch our backs."

Nodding, Neysea unsheathed her sword and turned to watch the entrance of the room. Targon stepped onto the ring of bricks, reached out and took hold of the iron rungs. Placing his feet on the ladder he assured himself that his leg would be able to sustain a good deal of his weight, even though feeling was starting to return to the limb he was unsure. Satisfied, he proceeded to climb down, flashing a quick glance at Neysea's back and then looking below him to watch for any danger. Jumping the last few feet the ranger quickly turned and drew his sword, extending his left arm to steady himself on the greasy stone floor.

"It's clear!" Targon shouted from below, the words echoing slightly around the room.

Falhnen promptly stepped out onto the ladder and climbed down, Kathra following a few rungs above. Once the two spell casters had arrived at the bottom, they stepped away from the ladder to give Neysea room to descend. Looking up through the hole the three waited, but the girl did not appear.

Suddenly splashes could be heard from above and small drops of slime rained down onto Falhnen and Targon. Kathra, having lost interest in the wait, had walked away to inspect the immediate area. Targon opened his mouth to call to Neysea, cut off when the girl cried out in fear and surprise. The ranger instantly jumped at the ladder and began to climb.

"I'm alright!" shouted Neysea before Targon had ascended more than a few rungs.

He paused in mid climb, shouting back, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Neysea answered, her face peered over the edge above, "thank you. I'm coming down now." She ducked out of sight again.

Targon stood back upon the stone floor, though he remained holding the ladder should he be required to rush back up again. He frowned as a full minute passed and Neysea still had not emerged over the lip above. _Thirty more seconds_, he told himself.

He relaxed a little when he heard the girl grunting and struggling somewhat more passively. She reappeared again, more fully, as she grasped the ladder, the exertion forcing more grunts and breaths from her.

A scuffing noise preceded a sudden profanity from Neysea; followed by, "Watch out!" More shuffling and a few clangs forced Targon to quickly relinquish his current position with widened eyes. A heartbeat later and the ranger would have been collected by the large, round shield that dropped swiftly out of the bottom of the hole.

"Sorry," Neysea called down, "I thought that I had tied it better than that."

* * *

"We will rest here for a spell," King Teirgoh said as the last dwarf filed into the room. He pulled an ornate lever on the wall and the stone double door ground to a close from the walls to each side. "Unless the spiders have learned to open doors we should not be harassed." The last was said more to himself, as the small army of dwarves had already vaulted into action.

The dwarven King leaned back against the wall under the lever and wiped a grubby sleeve across his brow. He admired the efficient and spirited way that his kin assembled the makeshift camp. Days of trudging through knee-deep sewerage had begun to dampen the enthusiasm of even the King himself, though he would never allow it to show. The band had started to lose hope of ever finding the ancestral ruins under Waterdeep until the dank, foetid sewer system had given way to the musty, carved stone passageways that they now travelled. The dwarves had instantly recognised the intricate workmanship of their ancestors - the tight fitting stones, some larger than a full grown dwarf, the way that traces of pure silver had been designed into the masonry so that the light from a few strategically placed torches would be reflected to fill entire corridors and rooms.

Yes, they were definitely getting closer to the forgotten city. Teirgoh had long been curious about finding the ruins beneath the City of Splendours, but had also recognised the fact that a successful attempt would require much deliberation and planning. He had initially decided that a small band of no more than twenty of the very best dwarven warriors that Waterdeep had to offer would be far more practical than the hundreds who had partitioned the King to allow them to follow him. The King's initial figure increased until Teirgoh could no longer choose from the fifty remaining warriors, his own son Keirgar among them.

These dwarves, both male and female, were supported by Teirgoh's most trusted advisor and close friend, the cleric Uldred the Wise and also a human wizard named Indigo Daurant, for the blue-violet robes he insisted on wearing.

Teirgoh watched the wizard through his bushy eyebrows. Daurant had secluded himself as best he could within the confines of a room filled with bustling dwarves, sitting cross-legged and leaning over a tome of some kind. _Probably his book of spells_, Teirgoh thought, unable to suppress a shiver. The King had never trusted the magic of wizards, too unpredictable. He would never have allowed the human to accompany his expedition if Uldred had not persuaded him, "The unpredictable nature of a mage's spells may be useful in the unpredictable passages under the city."

Grudgingly accepting the wisdom of the cleric's words, Teirgoh had allowed Daurant to travel with them, though he was never clear on the human's motivation. Research and study were about all the King could extract from the mage, eventually figuring that perhaps he did not want to know any more than what he was told anyway.

The human had certainly proven his worth thus far, seeming to go out of his way to demonstrate his usefulness. Teirgoh had long lost count of the number of adversaries that had fallen to fire, ice and acid before an axe or hammer could be raised.

"Sire," the King was snapped from his reverie by a stately looking dwarf, "the camp has been established, as requested."

"Thank you Armun, we will rest here for six hours before continuing," Teirgoh replied then glanced around. The only entrances to the room were the sliding stone door they had entered and another in the wall opposite. "Armun," the king said as the dwarf turned to take his leave, "a watch will not be required, tell every dwarf to get some rest."

* * *

"Where did you get this?" Targon asked Neysea once she had stepped away from the ladder. He walked over and plucked the shield out of the clinging muck, turning it this way and that so he could get a better look at it.

Neysea twitched her head back and to the left, indicating the level above. "From up there. Some more of those huge leeches attacked me and I stood on it while I was moving around. I found these too," she reached into her pack and withdrew three arrows, handing them to the ranger. "They might be more useful to you and I owe you an arrow," she smiled, then frowned, "though you don't have your bow."

Targon accepted the projectiles and passed the shield back to Neysea. He grinned a little foolishly. "I know, I didn't think that the confines of the sewer would make it a very valuable weapon. It would have only gotten in the way. Thank you for the arrows however, they won't be wasted." He removed his sword sheath from his back and untied several leather straps from around it. Pulling gently, he twisted what appeared to be the outside of the case until the scabbard was a rough 'X' shape. The new shape was fixed by retying the straps. He then slid the apparatus onto his shoulders until it fit comfortably in the centre of his back. Reaching over his shoulder in a well-practised motion, Targon placed the arrows into the second section of his scabbard – the ranger's quiver.

"You are bleeding," Falhnen crouched beside Neysea and reached out to pluck at the blood dotted cloth around her leg. Her mention of attack had induced an automated appraisal response from the cleric.

"I'm alright," Neysea skipped away from the half-elf's hands. "It was nothing, really."

"Are you sure?" Falhnen looked up at the girl.

"Yes, it's not even numb." She bounced a few times on each leg, hoping that would be enough to convince the cleric.

A loud, exaggerated clearing of the throat interrupted the byplay. Targon, Neysea and Falhnen looked toward the sound to see Kathra leaning against the wall in front of another large, iron door. Noticing their eyes on her, the elf smiled back for a moment then gave them a look of pure innocence, as if she had no idea from where the sound had originated.

"The child is fine, can we continue this errand and be done with it?" Kathra asked as the other three walked up to her.

The only path available to the adventurers lay beyond the rusted iron door ahead of them. No button, lever or switch to open the door was visible.

"Fine," Targon agreed, "but how do we get past this door?"

Kathra smiled a knowing smile at the ranger and pushed off the wall. Stepping aside, she revealed a tarnished silver lock that had been built into the stone. Targon opened his mouth to speak again and the elf raised her hand, a tarnished silver key dangling from one of her slender fingers.

"It had been attached to the ladder," she explained blithely. "I am surprised that you missed it, ranger."

Targon bared his teeth. "I was concentrating on securing the area, mage," he hissed and snatched the key off the elf.

Kathra stood aside and let the ranger step up to the wall. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it. They each looked toward the door as it slowly rose into the stone above their heads.

Leaving the others to walk over the threshold, Targon remained at the lock to retrieve the key. He turned it in the opposite direction, frowning when a snap from within the lock trapped the key in place. Wiggling the metal shaft, the ranger attempted to force the key free of the latch, giving up after a few seconds of failure for fear that the actions may cause the door to close with the key frozen as it was.

Taking a deep breath, Targon dropped his hand from the key and walked to join the rest of the party. "Don't say a word," he warned Kathra, who was smiling at him with more than a little amusement in her eyes.

Beyond the door lay a short passage that ended at another of the rusted iron gates. Part way down the wall to their right an inscription had been roughly chiselled into the stone; a large square button had also been positioned between the words and the door. A small alcove and refuse tunnel opposite the inscription was all that interrupted the stonework of the wall to their left.

Kathra stood before the words in the wall, the glowing fungus had not overgrown much of the chiselling, indicating that they had been carved out in the not too distant past. She brushed a hand across some of the more obscured lettering. "This is written in Common," she informed the group. Then read aloud, "_Only the Strong Shall Pass_. It is crude, but I believe that is what it says."

"Do kobolds speak Common?" Neysea asked.

Kathra shook her head, "No, I have never heard of such a thing." She looked at Targon, pursing her lips in thought. "We should remain vigilant from this point."

* * *

"What do you mean we must _separate_?" Anya half shouted, staring into Kirath's dark blue eyes. "You're the one that's been dragging us through this misbegotten cloaca of Waterdeep and now you want to just leave us? You're out of your mind! What about the rest of my payment? You think I came all this way for a few lousy dragons? That wouldn't even cover the stupor I'd have to drink myself into just to forget your half-bred face." She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword and advanced a step toward the half-elf, careful to find the line between conveying her intent and openly provoking hostility. She knew that Kirath was a wizard of some power, if she failed in her killing blow then he would snuff out her life like so many tavern candles. As much as she wanted her money from the man, she valued her own life more.

Ileira gasped and placed a hand to her mouth at the affront to Kirath's heritage. Being a binding of the human and elf race herself she always felt a pang of regret every time she heard the fact used as an insult. She remained quiet, hesitant to get involved in the heated conversation.

Kirath casually stared back at Anya through slightly drooped eyelids, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as the woman stopped her advance. He knew she was afraid of him, they all were. They build a facade of comradeship, pretending to be his friend as long as his spells were useful to them. None of them trusted him, he could sense their fear whenever he caught them looking at him and it thrilled him. He felt it again now, the barely perceptible shiver tingling up his spine and over his scalp. The racial insults stopped being a concern for the wizard decades ago when he began to consider himself as neither human nor elf. To Kirath the traits passed down by his parents were something to be drawn from and exploited rather than cherished or tolerated. His elf blood had given him access to power beyond that of a mere human, whilst his human mind was far more open, impatient and manipulative than that of any elf.

He let his gaze wander over the woman standing before him, her hand on her sword as if she would strike him down should he blink his eyes in a manner she disliked. Not unattractive at all, for a pure-bred human. Tall, lean and athletic, her striking red hair had been tied into a thick topknot that tumbled down the back of her head. If it weren't for the slight scar running down her right cheek to the tip of her cleft chin he might even have given her the opportunity to take him at some point in their endeavour. Of course he always preferred the fairer, more petite elven women, but he had made exceptions in the past. Though he could feel her discomfort at his presence, Kirath allowed himself to feel a small amount of deference toward the woman who now regarded him so defiantly.

"Of course you will be paid in full, hireling." Kirath replied with just enough vehemence to put the woman in her place. "I am a man of my word. Two thousand gold open returning to the City, as agreed. But truly my dear, what we are here for is worth a thousand times that," he continued a little more softly. "If you will beg my indulgences for just a while longer I am sure of it. I can feel it."

Anya couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at the value the half-elf was suggesting. Two million gold coins? She knew he was lying, but couldn't shake the niggling doubt at the back of her mind. Maybe he is sincere, or maybe she was just too trusting. In her thirty-two years she had lived a good life as a mercenary and, thanks to several very lucrative contracts over the recent past, she was able to be a lot more particular about the offers she accepted. Was she really here for the money or was she just getting bored with semi-retirement? Not rich by any means, she figured that she had enough stowed away to support her lifestyle of drunken debauchery interspersed with caravan protection jobs for a few years yet, even if she had not accepted the half-elf's offer.

"Very well Kirath," Anya said with finality, relaxing her sword arm. "But know that I have been cheated before. Temporarily."

The half-elf smiled warmly, spreading his arms. "Then it is settled." Fumbling around inside his grey robe he produced three small trinkets. Smiling again he gave one to each of this three companions; Anya, Ileira and Tyrra. "These will allow me to find your location should you discover something of worth to me. You need not do a thing, I have calibrated each of them to respond to the proximity of the magic that I seek. Should just one of you complete this task, all will be rewarded. You are free to return or continue, though I would ask you to consider that retreating to the surface exponentially reduces the chance of any of us acquiring that which we are here for."

"You assume that we would even be able to find our way back to the surface," Tyrra asserted. "We must have been travelling this place for days now. The turns have been endless, the passages deceptive. You have considered your time and place well Kirath." The elven woman had been leaning back against one of the sewer walls during the exchange between Anya and Kirath, one of her booted feet flush against the wall beneath her rump. She idly pocketed Kirath's bauble and tested the blade she had been honing by running her thumb along its length. "You've considered it very well in fact. We are likely as close to Skullport as we are to Waterdeep. Just how long have you been planning this?"

"My good friend," the half-elf began, "I genuinely expected us all to be dancing until our feet gave and drinking to our successes in _The Cyclops_ at this very moment. Yes, I suppose it is true that I have always considered this eventuality," he nodded sadly, "and I regret that time has forced me to play this particular hand. But unfortunately I must insist that we divide our efforts in order to search more thoroughly. There is simply no alternative, if you still desire your fee be paid in full."

Tyrra pushed herself off the wall and sheathed the sword in one graceful motion. She looked at each of her companions, Anya and Ileira both in the same pocket as herself. Kirath was the only reason that any of them were here. Tyrra thought back to the night she had observed the half-elf moving amongst the patrons in the crowded _Dancing Cyclops_ inn. The elf did not recall seeing Kirath enter, being too engrossed in her third mug of potent dwarf spirits, but she eventually noticed the grey robed half-elf bending low to utter a few words at one table before quickly moving to the next. Blinking heavily Tyrra pushed her mug away and frowned. Twice more the strange behaviour continued across the tables. Each time the half-elf left a table Tyrra could see his face become more flustered, his movements more desperate. After the next table full of patrons shook their heads and laughed the half-elf scowled openly, stood and walked over to a window. Bashing his fists against the sill he leaned out and took a deep, steadying breath. A heartbeat later he turned to face the common room once more, studying the people at each table individually. Tyrra saw the man look directly at her and quickly diverted her eyes back to the mug on the table in front of her. The elf let a few seconds pass before inconspicuously stretching her arms over her head and rubbing her chin against her shoulder in an effort to see without being observed. The half-elf had gone. Tyrra lowered her hands back to the mug and frowned deeply, searching the inn for the now familiar face.

"My good friend," the grey robed half-elf appeared beside her smiling warmly, his dark blue eyes twinkling in the firelight. Gold trim flickered as if flames had been woven through his robe. "I do believe that we could be mutually beneficial to each other."


	5. Chapter 4

Forth Chapter

"What do you suppose it means, 'Only the Strong Shall Pass'?" asked Targon as he reached up and pushed two fingers against the button beside the door. He watched the bottom of the door as it opened, watched it shudder to a halt after it had been raised a few inches. He looked out of the corner of his eye at his companions and lifted his eyebrows.

"Perhaps from now on you should allow someone else to open and close doors," Kathra couldn't resist the comment.

"No, this might be what the riddle meant," suggested Falhnen. "Whoever wrote it must have sabotaged the door so that it would not open completely. We may have to lift it ourselves to pass."

Targon looked the solid iron gate up and down, "You cannot be serious. The Tarrasque itself couldn't lift this thing."

It was then that the group experienced a stench sharper and more potent than what had pre-empted the kobold ambush earlier - the stench of rotting flesh and merciless death.

Neysea billowed her cheeks in a desperate attempt to force back the bile that threatened to rise up her throat. "What's that stench?" she managed to gag out.

Targon took a deep breath and exhaled. "Undeath," he answered. Steeling himself, the ranger stepped up to the door. "Help me with this," he commanded Falhnen.

Surprised by the ranger's sudden change of sentiment, Falhnen stood beside Targon and the two bent their knees to grasped the bottom of the door.

"On two," Targon muttered to the cleric. "One, two."

Gritting teeth and straining muscles, the two men inched the iron portal higher into the ceiling, an unseen counterweight making the task a little easier. Once the bottom edge of the door was to shoulder height, Targon indicated to hold steady.

"Ready to release and clear?" Targon managed to hiss. Receiving an affirmative nod from the flushed cleric, he again counted to two. On two, the men jumped back from the door, both fully expecting it to crash back down into the sewerage. All in the party were pleasantly surprised when the iron shuddered and groaned a little, but remained stationary.

"Let's go before it changes its mind," Neysea suggested.

The group dashed under the door in pairs and stopped for a moment on the other side. A scuffle and deep hiss from the right caught the attention of the four. Neysea could not suppress a gasp of surprise and fear as pale, clawed hands thrust at her throat through the bars of another slightly raised door. Shrinking back into Targon, the girl looked past the claws and saw the stuff of nightmares. A flesh-torn, rotting skeleton, animated by some perverse wizard, vainly attempted to reach the group through the bars. The creature ground its brown teeth and threw itself into the iron bars, mindlessly determined to carry out its creator's order or be destroyed in the process.

Targon lifted his mace from his hip and pointed the spiked ball at the thrashing skeleton. "Get it away from the door," he told Falhnen.

"That is not necessary, the room is empty," Kathra objected. The elf could see that the room containing the skeleton was only a few yards deep and contained nothing of interest, perhaps a holding cell or long abandoned store of some sort.

"Do it!" The ranger ordered Falhnen, who hesitated slightly.

The cleric was unsure of what Targon expected of him. He had never before faced an undead foe. He curled his fingers around the blank silver disk hanging around his neck and closed his eyes, praying for courage and guidance. The disk remained in his hand as he stepped toward the animated corpse, stopping just beyond the flailing claws.

"B-back," the word caught in Falhnen's throat as the creature turned its faintly glowing eye sockets to face him. Taking a deep breath, the cleric spoke loudly and clearly, "Back! By Tymora's command!"

Immediately the power of the mighty Goddess flowed into the cleric's body, warming him and culminating in the hand holding the silver medallion. Falhnen released the disk and pushed his hand towards the skeleton, euphoria dulling his senses as he channelled Tymora's influence. The skeleton screeched and pulled its arms back through the bars of the door as it struggled to escape the vast oblivion confronting it. Falhnen smiled in uncontaminated satisfaction, watching the fearless mockery of life desperately scramble away from the authority of his Goddess.

Targon stepped up to the door as soon as he dared and bent to hold the base. "Help me with this," he said to Falhnen.

The cleric bounded up to the bars and bent beside Targon with an overwhelming urge to unleash virtue on the world. The feeling that he could obliterate an entire army of death soon faltered as the cold iron resisted the efforts of the human and half-elf.

"Are you sure we must lift this door like the other?" the cleric uttered as the two men stood and rested against the bars. "I do not know how long the creature will fear us."

"I don't see any button or switch to open it," the ranger replied, "and it was already partially opened. I can only assume that means that it was not locked into place."

"Judicious," Kathra said, her almond shaped eyes blinking at Targon. "Hold still human." She traced unseen runes in the air before her and whispered a few short words of power, completing the spell with a downward thrust in Targon's direction.

The ranger flinched slightly at the action, not knowing what spell the mage had cast at him. A tingling sensation passed rapidly through his body and faded in a heartbeat, dissolving the strained aches in his arms, shoulders and legs. He looked down at himself and frowned back at Kathra, "What did you do to me elf?"

"I have temporarily ameliorated just one of your imperfections, human," she lifted a corner of her mouth in return. "Try again," she tilted her head towards the door. The skeleton had begun to scratch at the far wall, unable to put enough distance between itself and the cleric.

Targon stepped up to the door again, bent and grasped the bottom bar and waited for the cleric to get into position beside him. Kathra smiled to herself as the ranger arched his back and easily slid the heavy iron portal into the stone overhead, leaving the cleric to stand idle in momentary confusion.

"Outstanding," said Targon as he waved his mace, now light as a feather, towards the skeleton. Stalking closer to his oblivious adversary, the ranger drew back his weapon, swinging with all of his enhanced might once he was within range. The heavy spiked ball crashed into the creature's temple, meeting little resistance, completely shattering the skull. Splinters of bone clinked into the wall and fell on top of the twitching jumble of bones that had collapsed to the ground. Grunting loudly Targon swung his mace again, determined to see the skeleton into the next phase of its pseudo-life. Again and again the ranger's mace smashed into the fallen skeleton, bone and sewerage splattering in all directions. Lifting his mace one more time Targon was halted by a voice echoing through the haze of his consciousness.

"Targon! That's enough!" shouted Neysea, startled and frightened at the change that had come over the ordinarily genial ranger.

Standing straight Targon turned to face his companions. His silent gaze caught each in turn before he stalked past them and continued on deeper into the sewer.

"I guess he doesn't like skeletons," Falhnen whispered to the women once Targon had disappeared around a corner.

Kathra nodded slightly, her eyes remaining on the corner that Targon had vanished behind. Neysea scowled at the half-elf and walked to catch up with her friend, leaving the two magic users to follow behind.

They found the ranger facing the wall at the end of a short corridor, another of the heavy iron doors blocked the path ahead.

"Kathra, give me one of your daggers," Targon ordered, his hand traced a deep, strangely shaped carving etched into the wall.

The elf woman narrowed her eyes at the ranger, ever reluctant to part with a dagger no matter how many she had available. She slid one of her weapons from the bandoleer concealed beneath her robes and handed it hilt first to Targon. "I want it back," she said slowly, her deep violet eyes darkening with the promise of misfortune should her demand not be respected.

Targon forced back a smile as Kathra released her prize, noting how highly she regarded her weapons. He turned his attention back to the carving and raised the dagger in front of it. The shape of the sculpted niche was different to the dagger he was holding, a little longer in the blade and a little shorter in the hilt. It appeared, however, that Kathra's dagger would still slot into the carving. Looking out of the corner of his eye, the ranger could see the elf intently watching every movement of her weapon. He took a deep breath and pushed the dagger into the niche, noticing the elf flinch slightly when a very audible click locked the weapon into place.

The party's attention was diverted towards the gate to the right of the carving as hidden mechanisms drew the impenetrable bulkhead into the ceiling.

"I had a feeling that was what it was for," Targon nodded at the doorway.

"Wonders will never cease," Kathra said dryly, "now I would like my dagger back."

"It's yours for the taking, though you may need another of those spells," Targon replied, clawing at the dagger. He looked more closely at the carving; it seemed different somehow. Suddenly it occurred to him and he took an involuntary step backwards, looking at Kathra with raised eyebrows, "The wall has moulded itself around the dagger."

"Do not be absurd human," the elf did not even bother to dignify Targon's suggestion by looking at the wall herself.

"The carving was a different shape to the dagger when I slotted it in," the ranger insisted, "now it fits as perfectly as if it had been forged into the stone itself."

"In any event," Falhnen interrupted the elven rebuttal, "the door has opened and I would really prefer to be done with this cesspit as soon as possible. We should continue, and be delighted that a dagger is all we have lost thus far."

"You would not part with that trinket from around your neck half-human, you cannot expect me to leave something of mine," Kathra said, her gaze boring into the cleric.

Falhnen clutched Tymora's pendant and opened his mouth to issue a scathing rebuke to the insolence that the elf had shown. He thought better of it however and walked through the doorway to wait with his back turned. Neysea followed the half-elf, hoping that Targon and Kathra would end their squabble quickly.

"It's stuck fast," the ranger announced with finality and walked over the threshold. "Let's keep going," he said to Neysea and Falhnen as he passed them.

Kathra took a single look at the trapped dagger, raked her fingernails across it and then sighed and followed after her three companions.

The four walked a twisting corridor for several minutes before Targon halted them, stretching his arms out to his sides to prevent another from passing him. "Do you smell that?" the ranger asked nobody in particular.

"Death," answered the cleric after a brief pause.

Targon nodded. "Though not as stale as the skeleton. Fresher, thicker."

Neysea screwed up her nose from the description as much as the actual odour.

"Prepare," the ranger hissed, drawing his sword and unhooking his mace.

Neysea's own sword leapt into her hand in a well-practised motion. Steel flashed in elven hands as Kathra withdrew two of her daggers from the folds of her robe. Falhnen fumbled around in the bag of rocks dangling at his belt, finding weapons of his own.

The four adventurers crept as silently as possible in the sloshing muck, each growing more and more wary as the stench of rotting flesh grew denser. Low moaning and shuffling splashes were heard ahead as they moved around another corner. In front of Targon and Neysea a short corridor opened up into a small room.

Targon halted again and looked across to Neysea. A wordless understanding passed between the two humans; the room contained foe. The ranger looked back at the magic users and waved his sword tip towards the room ahead. Kathra and Falhnen nodded slightly, both prepared to face whatever lay in their path.

Turning his attention back to the room ahead Targon took a deep breath, he knew all too well the creatures that oozed with such pungency and could do little more than moan insanely. He had spent most of his youth fighting the beasts, earning himself the name Crypthound, as he futilely tried to fulfil the destiny that he believed was his. Unfortunately this meant that he also knew that there was nothing he could say to his new friends that would prepare them for the enemy they were about to face.

Gripping his weapons tightly, Targon hoped that his new friends could take care of themselves. "Let's go," he hissed loud enough to be heard by those near him but, hopefully, not by those in the room ahead.

Kathra, Falhnen and Neysea crept forward, keeping pace with Targon as he approached the room. Suddenly the ranger shouted a war cry and launched himself into the room, instantly followed by a dull, hideous moaning and the sound of a hammer striking wet meat.

"Targon!" Neysea cried, taken aback yet again by the ranger's behaviour. She rushed forward to assist with Falhnen and Kathra two steps behind.

Passing through the entrance to the chamber, Neysea skidded to a standstill as she was confronted with a vision more ghastly than she had previously thought imaginable. Colour drained from her face as she quickly tried to comprehend what Targon was fending off. At first she thought of the skeleton that had been smashed beneath the ranger's mace, but the two creatures before her were not skeletons. Bone and internal organs showed through the rotting flesh that hung off some areas like the tattered rags that covered the wasted bodies.

The young warrior retched as she saw a sewer rat picking small chunks of meat from the neck of one of the creatures, quickly devouring the morsel and then clutching the shoulder tightly as the rigours of combat threatened to shake it off.

"By the Gods..." Falhnen breathed beside her. Clutching his medallion in one hand and a rock in the other the cleric said a short prayer to Tymora and hurled his missile at the closest zombie. The stone glowed brightly as it struck the creature's arm, causing the limb to shrivel and fall from the body as godly power purged the evil within.

"Do not just stand there girl!" Kathra shouted at Neysea, "Can you not see that his mind is not his own?"

The elf's voice shook Neysea from her enthralment just as one of the zombies caught hold of Targon's mace. No longer under the influence of Kathra's spell, Targon was no match for the supernatural strength of the undead creature and was forced to slash at the flesh-torn arm or release his weapon.

Neysea leapt forward to engage the second, now single armed, zombie before it could attack Targon. She gripped her sword with both hands and drove the point down through the armless shoulder of her adversary. Ichor oozed from gaping holes in the zombie's flesh as the blade slid all the way to the hilt, piercing organs with a sickly squelching sound.

The beast turned to face Neysea, flailing out at the warrior with its remaining arm. Neysea stumbled backwards, thrown slightly off balance as her sword was ripped from her grasp. She ducked under the zombie's clumsy attack and skipped backward, pushing off a wall for support. After a relatively safe distance the fighter stopped to catch her breath and wait for an opportunity to retrieve her sword.

"The weapons do nothing," Falhnen said to Kathra as the two watched the battle progress. Watched Targon parry a blow with his sword while trying to retain his footing and his grip on the handle of his mace. Watched Neysea divert the attention of the second zombie before it too could harass the ranger.

"They serve as distraction," the elf replied calmly. "Tell me half-human," she continued, "how do you slay that which is already dead? How do you stop something that needs no mind to function?"

"I don't know," the cleric frowned, "but if you do, I suggest you speak now." He threw another of his rocks at the one armed zombie, cursed as it struck the rat from its foetid shoulder.

Targon could barely see through the cloud of his hatred. He loathed creatures such as these and everything they represented. The afterlife should be peaceful and serene like a quite nap in a gentle forest clearing, not the nightmare that confronted he and his companions at the moment. As with most about his life, the ranger knew not why such feelings boiled and churned within him. No vampire had spawned progeny from his family, no lich had abducted his friends for vile experimentation and no wraith had terrorised his childhood. All he knew was that death is final and he had made it his life to track down and slay as many of the despicable creations as possible.

Moving like an automaton the ranger parried and struck, parried and struck. Unmindful of the fact his weapon did little to damage the creatures and nothing to stop them. Small chunks of rotten flesh and bone chips dropped from various places across the zombie that had held fast the spiked ball of his mace. Occasionally something more substantial, such as bone-protruded finger, fell to the churning muck at the combatant's feet.

"Ranger! Asc`balvan! Retreat you fool!"

Distant words filtered into Targon's consciousness as a gentle hand grabbed him around his waist and forcefully dragged him away from the undead fiend.

"Unhand me!" Targon groaned loudly. Releasing his mace, the ranger fought to free himself from the arm, mindlessly determined to finish off the army of death that was now beyond the reach of his sword.

A bright red flash to his left caught the ranger's attention and dissipated some of the cloud obscuring his vision. He watched in wonder as numerous small balls of glowing red energy fired from the arcing arm of a figure draped in deep red robes. The orbs curved toward the zombie that Targon had been fending off, tracing faint red lines through the thick air as they sped unerringly into the designated target. Each tiny ball struck the creature a split second after the previous, six in all. Each impact knocked the moaning, thrashing creature further off balance until the final caused the creature to topple backwards to the sewer floor. The zombie struggled to rise again for a brief moment and then collapsed back into the muck.

The second zombie, unable to comprehend the demise of the first, advanced toward Neysea. The girl backed further away though kept her eyes focused on the hilt of her sword. Her weapon was buried down into the armless shoulder of the remaining zombie and would take a very deft, or very lucky, manoeuvre to retrieve.

"Your pebbles half-human! Bless them!" Kathra shouted hoarsely to the cleric as solid stone halted Neysea's retreat. The human girl looked about frantically, her sword forgotten, as the undead creature bore down on her.

Falhnen plucked two more rocks from his pouch and grasped them tightly in each hand. He closed his eyes and purged his mind of all but his Goddess. Praying for a swift and just end to this battle, the cleric opened his eyes and cast his missiles at the remaining zombie.

* * *

The dwarven King Teirgoh sat with his back against the carved stone wall of the room in which his small army had camped. He relished the solid, cool stone of his ancestors, felt much more acutely now that he had removed his armour. The King's suit of full plate mail was not as heavy as those worn by some of his countrymen. Trimmed with gold and silver the armour served a more ceremonial purpose, though extra protection was afforded the King by potent runes etched into the steel.

"Sire? We're all set when you are."

"Very well Armun," the king replied as he hefted himself to his feet. Several faint pops escaped the hardened ruler's joints as he stood. Armun pretended to oversee the camp as Teirgoh snapped a quick glance in his direction.

"Your armour and weapon sire".

Nodding his appreciation Teigoh strapped himself into his armour and sheathed his twin short swords at his hips. The King had decided to leave his war axe on the surface with his battle armour, preferring the swifter parrying ability of the blades to defend himself in his ceremonial armour.

Straightening his armour and scabbards, Teirgoh looked up and proudly surveyed his countrymen. Fifty in all, not a single warrior had been so much as scratched up to this point in the expedition. Keirgar, the King's own son stood at the forefront of the army, awaiting his father's word to continue deeper into the catacombs.

Movement at the rear of the dwarves caught the King's attention for a moment. Indigo Daurant shuffled silently, his eyes met the dwarf's and he smiled apologetically. Teirgoh felt his bushy eyebrows lower involuntarily, despite his best efforts he could not bring himself to fully trust the human. His gaze then sought reassurance from Uldred, the cleric who had lobbied his King to allow Daurant to join them.

Finally the king swung his arm in a wide arc, "Have you not rested enough?" He spoke loudly and clearly, many decades of living in such close proximity to Waterdeep had left him with only a hint of the heavy dwarven accent he once possessed. "I think that the home of our ancestors has waited long enough, let us purge the vermin that now infest her!"

A brief cheer went up among his followers as he strode meaningfully toward the door that he knew must lead them ever closer to their destination.

* * *

"How do you suppose Tyrra is going?" Anya asked, a wry smile upturning a corner of her mouth. "I would have strangled the bastard by now if I were left alone with him. No sense of humour."

"It was a bad idea, us splitting up like this," Ileira replied.

"Don't bother yourself with that, if kobolds and zombies are the worst that's down here we'll be fine. And as much as I hate to admit it, that cowson half-elf isn't half bad in a scrap neither. If I had someone like him under me I'd make a fortune freelancing up there. Well, like him but with a sense of humour."

Ileira glanced sideways at the woman walking beside her, "I do not like you saying things like that."

"What? It's true isn't it? The man has no sense of humour. Remember when I pretended to push him down the hole with the ladder? I thought he was going to incinerate me with fireballs from his arse. Now that would have been something."

"I meant being a half-elf. When you insult him you also insult me."

"Oh come on Ileira," Anya nudged the smaller woman's shoulder. "It's not the words, it's the way it's said. You're alright, I wouldn't say it like that to you. I'm only insulting that good-for-nothing rat who dragged us down here to let us fend for ourselves, not all half-elves."

Ileira pursed her lips, "Perhaps, but it makes me uncomfortable regardless."

"Well, at least we're rid of him. Maybe going our separate ways wasn't such a bad idea after all. We get to make our own time now. No more waiting around for Kirath to count his reagents or read his books or emery board his nails or whatever it is he does when he goes off on his own."

The half-elven woman stopped and turned to face Anya. "Maybe we should just head back to the surface," she suggested, worry showing in her eyes.

Any forthcoming reply was ended by the rapidly growing moans of more tormented creatures. Anya looked back the way they had come and saw five of the filthy undead beasts shuffling quickly towards the two women. They looked almost comical trying to get any amount of speed from their wasted and non-compliant limbs, but Anya knew that fighting them off would be no laughing matter.

"I can't win against five, but we should be able to out run them. With any luck they'll become isolated so I can finish them one at a time. Let's go," the human woman suggested, pulling Ileira by the arm and loping off deeper into the sewer system.

The two women effortlessly increased the distance between themselves and their pursuers, fleeing haphazardly down corridors and past intersections. Within a few minutes they had ceased to hear the incessant groaning emitted by the zombies. Slowing once again to a walk they took a few moments to catch their breath.

"So," Ileira panted softly, "do we know where we are or where to go?"

"Well in a broad sense we're standing in crud under the City of Splendours, and we need to go deeper into the crud under the City of Splendours. If you want anything more specific than that then I'm afraid I can't help you. In hind sight we should have tried harder to find a map of this place before coming down here. I'm sure we could have found somebody that would sell us one without telling the guard," Anya answered.

Ileira stopped and leaned back against a wall. Sighing she turned away from Anya and picked a string of glowing lichen from the bricks, letting it fall into the turbid water at her feet. "We are going to die down here," she said simply, watching the strand get dragged away from her by the slow moving current. It wasn't a question.

Anya walked over to her friend and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, "Nobody is going to die anywhere," she assured the cleric. "Well, maybe Kirath will the next time he gets within arm's length of me. After I've got my money. But for the moment you and I have nothing to worry about. I bet there's a way out of here right around that next corner."

The half-elf patted Anya's hand and pushed herself off the wall smiling briefly. Without another word she walked off towards the corner her friend had indicated, hearing the sloshing steps of Anya following behind her. Turning the corner she stopped suddenly, a perplexed look on her face.

"Hey! What did I tell you?" Anya playfully slapped Ileira on the back as she walked past. "It's not quite a way out, but a ladder down is still better than more zombies." She crouched beside the opening and shouted, "Hello! Any zombies down there? I'm comin' to getcha!" Grinning up at her friend she quickly climbed onto the ladder and descended to the level below.


	6. Chapter 5

Fifth Chapter

A blinding flash engulfed the room containing the combatants, each forced to throw their arms up to fend off the violent flare. As his vision returned to him Falhnen slowly and deliberately blinked to clear the red spots the light had left in its wake. He quickly looked around the room, seeking the zombie that he had cast his stones at. Finding no evidence that it had ever existed he looked up at Neysea who had covered her head against the wall that moments ago had blocked her retreat.

When the blows of the undead fiend did not land, the girl hesitantly looked around the room, then finally at a groggy looking Targon. "W-what happened?"

"It... evaporated," Kathra unhelpfully answered, more than a little impressed, "I had no idea you possessed the stones, half-human."

Ignoring the elf, Falhnen explained just as cryptically, "I think Tymora happened."

"There's no sign of it!" Targon frantically washed his boots around in the sludge, weapons ready for battle. "What did you do to it?"

"I guess... I destroyed it," the cleric was astonished by the ranger's accusation.

Targon forced his body to be still, breathing deeply despite the foetid air. He closed his eyes and felt his muscles begin to relax. "Alright, good."

"What has gotten into you?" Neysea directed her question at the ranger. "First you couldn't stop smashing the skeleton and now you want _more_ of these things?"

"I'm sorr-" Targon half shouted his rebuttal before composing himself again. "I'm sorry," he continued more gently, the fear and confusion in the girls eyes almost bringing a lump to his throat. "I just cannot stand these... abominations," he spat the word as he swept his arms around the room. "I don't expect you to understand." He stalked off as if that explained all.

Frowning helplessly, Neysea set about recovering the sword that had been impaled in the zombie that the cleric had destroyed. After a brief search she discovered the hilt perched upon the remains of the remaining corpse. Reaching out tentatively she snatched the sword up, looking away quickly as small gibbets of rotten flesh clung then dropped from the leather binding on the grip. She quickly skipped over to where Falhnen and Kathra waited, the three following after the ranger.

The group continued in silence for a while, trudging through the dank sewer system, always alert for signs of ambush. Neysea walked a few paces behind Targon, still unsure and a little wary of his outbursts. She watched the confidence in his stride, the way he gripped his sword and mace as a desperate man would hold a rescuing rope, as if his life depended on the strength of his grasp.

"He has a troubled mind, child, though I would not be too concerned with his behaviour. Likely he has dealt with it since before you were born," whispered Kathra from beside her. "Just be sure that you do not find yourself defenceless again, for that is where Targon's _delotha_ will cause trouble for us all."

Neysea nodded her understanding in the elf mage's wisdom though frowned at the unfamiliar word. "What is a _delotha_?"

Kathra paused in thought for a moment before replying, "_Delotha_ is what you might call an abhorrence. A detestation or odium. He seems to have an irrational hatred for those disgusting creatures that clouds his mind and corrupts his judgement."

Neysea's frown deepened and she looked again at the ranger walking ahead of the group. "Is there anything I can do for him? I have never seen him act that way before. He has always been so good to me," she looked up at the elf walking beside her. "It scares me to see him like that."

"I do not believe you can help him, though I too have not witnessed such recklessness. It would be prudent to ask the man yourself, if you are truly concerned," replied the elf simply, slowing her pace slightly to indicate the conversation was considered over.

Neysea quickened her steps to regain her position beside the ranger but stopped short when she realised Targon had halted his advance and was now studying the passage to his left. She frowned once more and strode up to him, Kathra and Falhnen following behind.

The ranger turned at his companions' approach. He pointed his mace down the short corridor, indicating another heavy iron door a few paces ahead. "This way," he said flatly before striding off towards the door. Without seeing if his friends were accompanying him he pushed his fist against the glowing blue button, pausing only until he could duck under the rising portal. Standing on the far side Targon looked around a seemingly nondescript room, his sharp eyes quickly finding a small ladder extending downwards in the far corner. As with the previous ladder a small ring of bricks had been positioned around the circumference of the hole to prevent sewerage from flowing down to the room below.

"You found a way down!" Neysea stepped up beside the ranger, her voice a strange combination of glee and a little disappointment.

"I do not believe it is," Targon said as he swung himself onto the ladder and rapidly descended out of sight.

Dropping the final three rungs, Targon turned to examine the large room at the bottom of the ladder. Unlike the area overhead this place had none of Waterdeep's excrement flowing through it. By stark contrast it appeared tidy and well maintained. Flickering shadows played across the smooth stone walls, cast by low torches that burned slowly in wall sconces to give light where none of the glowing moss would grow. Beneath the flaming brand on the far side of the room stood a huge oak desk some nine feet across and a small three-legged stool that would not have looked out of place in a dwarven drinking establishment, the only furnishings that Targon could see. The table was laden with scrolls and parchments of every description, tomes were stacked on the back left corner whilst numerous quills and ink pots had been scattered haphazardly across the right side.

Targon started to move towards the desk, curious to its contents when he heard a long moan come from his left. A short gasp from behind made him aware of Neysea's presence in the room. He turned quickly towards the direction the moan had come from. A sturdy wooden door lay against a darkened part of the room where no torch burned, almost invisible in the shadows. Targon purposefully strode towards it, sensing that whatever had drawn him to this place lay beyond the door.

"What was that?" Neysea asked quietly, rapidly closing the distance to the ranger.

Targon ignored the question and forced the door open, stepping into a room similar to the last. The only light was cast by low burning torches but it was just enough for the two humans to bare witness to the horror that lay on the floor in the centre. More of the undead creatures, smaller than the last, were huddled around the remains of something that Targon could not quite make out, greedily devouring the flesh piece by piece. Neysea gagged as one of the beasts lifted its head to regard the newcomers. The diminutive, scaled frame and rat-like tail resembled the kobolds infesting the higher levels of the sewer but the eyes were blank and dead. It chewed slowly for a moment then swallowed the grisly meal, baring its teeth in a long, hissing sneer that caused the other zombie creatures to look at the two humans.

The ranger waited no longer. Taking a deep breath he hefted his spiked mace in his right hand, his short sword in his left and charged into the small group. Two of the kobold zombies fell before they could stand, one skewered on his sword and the other with a smashed skull. The remaining four climbed ponderously to their feet, seeking to subdue the ranger for their next meal. Spinning quickly Targon lashed out with his heavy boot, forcing one of the beasts away even as he decapitated another with a slashing back swing. A bellowing cry left his throat as he forced his way into the three remaining zombies, his hatred for them finally finding a voice as he used the heel of his boot to crush the throat of the beast he had kicked away. Raising his mace overhead the ranger slammed the wicked club down onto the crown of another, leaving only one. Targon looked around frantically, his eyes wide and searching.

"Targon! It's ok! I killed it." Neysea pleaded, drawing her own sword from the gut of the remaining zombie.

The ranger looked toward Neysea but seemed to focus on the wall at her back. He took another wide look at the floor around him then snapped his gaze to the kobold zombie at Neysea's feet. "Bah," spat the man disgustedly, "I need no charity against this pathetic vermin! Who told you to be here? Why are you following me?"

"Targon..." the girl started, "it attacked me. I wanted to leave you be, but it came for me."

"It makes no difference now. The thing is finally dead. They are all finally dead, that is all that matters."

"Why are you doing this?" the girl begged as the ranger move steadily over to the bundle the zombies had been devouring. "It scares me," she finished weakly when it was apparent that Targon was again ignoring her.

The ranger toed the zombies' meal with his boot and then crouched to get a better look in the dim light. At first he was reminded of the halfling bones they had found upon first entering the sewers but soon realised this person was human and had not been dead for long. He studied the torn clothing, ripped flesh exposing bone in places. The man had been wearing a hardened leather jerkin under a robe of such a deep blue that it appeared black in the darkened room. The ranger pushed aside a flap of the robe's collar and traced his finger along a rune that had been carved into the right breast of man's armour. A drop of blood inside a single flame.

"Pathetic," Targon spat as he lurched to his feet. It had been almost a half year since he had last seen that rune. He had lead a small band to the Dungeon of the Hark to weed out and destroy a wizard thought to be commanding skeleton raids against lone merchants heading into Secomber. The wizard was found without incident, though once surrounded he had attacked the party before he could be questioned. Two had fallen instantly, leaving shrivelled corpses where once proud warriors stood. Then the undead had come for them. Only Targon and Wen, cleric of Ilmater, had escaped alive. It was later found that Wen had been diseased during the brief battle and she had died within two days of arriving back in Secomber. Despite the loss of five brave souls the skeleton attacks had ceased and Targon was proclaimed a victory that had haunted him ever since. Nobody had known what became of the wizard.

Neysea stared at the ranger as he moved past her and out of the room. Not wanting to stay any longer than necessary, she quickly followed.

"What was it?"

"An old acquaintance," the ranger replied evenly. "Finally got what he deserved."

"What kind of person deserved to be eaten by those things?"

"Those things were created by him. They destroyed him. Something I should have done long ago."

Neysea frowned, wanting to know more but also beginning to feel claustrophobic in the dimly lit room. "I don't like this place," she said finally.

Targon nodded and the two walked back to the ladder. Neysea ascended and Targon took one last look around the room. Pursing his lips he considered the parchment strewn table and the flaming torch flickering above it. None of this mad man's work should ever find its way to the surface. He strode across the room and lifted the flame out of its bracket. Pausing only for an instant he touched the flame to several of the crumbling scripts, which ignited and spread across the entire desk within seconds. Targon stood back against the heat and dropped the torch to the stone floor. Turning slowly the ranger walked back to the ladder and, without a second glance, climbed to where his friends patiently waited.

"So would you care to explain what that was all about?" Kathra asked firmly as Targon passed by.

The ranger ignored the question and continued walking.

"There was a person down there," explained Neysea as she stepped off the top of the ladder. "One of Targon's friends, but he was dead before we could reach him."

Targon stopped and whirled on the girl. "By the Gods girl did you not hear me say that he deserved his fate? He was no friend! He was an abomination! My only regret is arriving too late to end his miserable existence myself." The ranger clenched his jaw, biting back more scathing remarks. Pausing only to look each of his companions in the eye he turned and stalked away.

"Could it have been Xanathar?" Falhnen ventured. "Maybe we should examine him more closely. We would be free of this place and the Lords would have their answer."

Neysea shook her head, "No, I don't think so. A man as powerful and well connected as the Xanathar will not be so easy to find. Or kill. Targon definitely knew who it was, he would have said something if it were the man we were sent to find."

"Shame," the cleric replied and walked off after Targon.

* * *

"So how deep does this thing go anyway? There can't be enough shit in the city to need it three levels deep," Anya mused aloud. "Maybe we're not even in the proper sewers any more. Maybe this is some long forgotten underground passage network that's just been flooded with all the rubbish from up there. I don't mean Skullport, we'd already have a drow elf wearing our skin like a cape if we were close to there. That's what they do you know, wear people for clothing. But maybe this place is something nobody knows about except us. Forgotten by the Lords. Or abandoned by them," she looked at Ileira walking beside her.

"I do not know how deep it goes," replied Ileira absently.

"Well, I suppose nobody knows how deep it goes if we're the only people that know it's here. At least we haven't seen a zombie for a while. They were a real piece of work weren't they? I wonder who created them. They don't just sprout from nothing you know. And it's not like how we're born. That's why you don't see any baby zombies, no zombie love." She grinned and nudged the half-elf with her elbow. "So a wizard must have made them, or maybe a lich. That's like a zombie wizard. You really don't want to mess with someone who turns himself into a zombie on purpose," Anya shivered. "Are you hungry? I feel like I haven't eaten in days. Let's pull up in here and take a break," she pointed to a corner of the room the two women had entered. A wooden barrel and a number of small boxes had been stacked up against the walls.

"Yes, thank you. I am getting quite weary," Ileira graciously took hold of Anya's outstretched hand.

The two women trudged over to the corner and Anya positioned two of the boxes where they would be suitable as makeshift seats. The human woman patted one of the boxes for Ileira to seat herself and looked up to smile at her friend. The cleric stood staring at the room behind the human woman, the colour draining from her shocked expression bringing a frown instead of a smile to Anya's face. Following the half-elf's gaze Anya slowly turned to see three huge creatures creeping toward the pair. Each was over seven feet tall, walking upright on hind legs and carrying weapons in clawed hands. Short, matted fur covered them from dog-like head to padded foot. They wore a collection of armour pieces that appeared to have been scavenged from around Waterdeep, Anya recognised a buckled breastplate of the City Watch across the torso of the centre gnoll. Anya's eyes were fixed on the beast in the middle, a full head taller than the other two and brandishing a wicked halberd it stopped just inside the room. The two flanking gnolls, each carrying a rusted sword, halted a step behind. Bright yellow eyes gleamed eerily back at the two women.

"Chauntea save us," the cleric breathed.

"Ileira," Anya wrenched her gaze away from the murderous intent evident in the beasts' intelligent eyes and suppressed a gasp as she realised two more of the creatures had entered the room behind the cleric. She slowly raised her arm and pointed to a third, smaller passage out of the room, "Go."

The two gnolls behind Ileira looked at the passage the fighter had indicated. The three behind Anya growled quietly. Ileira stood transfixed by the huge gnoll that had entered first.

Anya slowly drew her long sword and lifted her shield from her back. "Ileira!" She hissed loudly.

The sound of her name snapped Ileira's attention back to the human woman. She looked at Anya with a mix of fear and determination. Looking at the only unobstructed exit to the room she nodded once. "I can help you. If you give me time."

"GO!" Anya whirled on the three gnolls behind her, the word becoming a bellowing cry that echoed down the passages in all directions. Her sword slashed out at the tallest creature but the blow was clumsily deflected off the halberd pole. Spinning she allowed her momentum to carry her past the leading gnoll and slammed her shield into the wet muzzle of the beast behind it. She risked a glance back and saw the half-elf disappear into the darkness of the small passage. The two gnolls that had entered behind the pair advanced toward Anya, deciding it would be easier to help finish her than to chase down the cleric.

"Come on!" She shouted, stabbing the tip of her blade through the throat of the beast that had been dropped by her shield slam. "That's one-nil already and we've only just started!"

She deftly side-stepped a vicious halberd chop and charged at the second of the three that had entered initially. Raising her shield she pushed herself against the creature, forcing its sword arm high. Immediately she lowered her own sword, pushed the weapon up under the makeshift breastplate and twisted. A shrieking howl rent the air as Anya withdrew her weapon and turned to parry another swipe from the halberd. The strength of the blow threatened to shake the sword from her grip. Gritting her teeth Anya charged again, knowing that the halberd would be deadly at range if she were to give the beast room to use it effectively. Ducking under a swinging elbow from the tallest gnoll she sought out the two smaller ones.

"Where are you," she growled. Throwing up her shield to block the halberd again, the blow leaving a deep gash in the steel disk. She riposted, grazing the side of the huge beast.

Howls of pain caught her attention for a moment as the squeaking of a hundred rats filled the junction room. She parried another strike from the lead gnoll and smashed her shield into its fanged jaw with a ferocious backhanded blow. The beast stumbled groggily as Anya lunged towards it, her sword snaking out into the unprotected throat of her target. Spinning on her heel she turned to see the final two gnolls thrashing in a sea of rats. They had discarded their weapons and were desperately attempting to brush the rodents away. Anya stood and watched as the tiny creatures stripped fur and flesh from the howling gnolls, getting inside their armour and crawling over their legs and arms. Within moments both of the hyena-headed beastmen had fallen to the sewer floor, being devoured before her eyes by the squeaking flood.

The woman stood in silence as the rats consumed her adversaries, arms limp by her sides, wondering what had made so many of the creatures attack the gnolls. She backed away as the rodents fell quiet and encircled her. Sitting on their haunches they regarded her for a moment, some looking around while others idly nibbled at their forepaws or rubbed the side of their heads. Anya's heart beat loudly in her ears, how could she fight this? Three heartbeats passed and suddenly the rats scattered in all directions, pouring out of the room via the three main entrances as well as various overflow pipes, cracks and small grates. Three more heartbeats and she was alone in the room with the only evidence of the infestation lying upon the floor before her.

Taking a deep breath Anya stowed her shield and sheathed her sword. She walked to where the lead gnoll had fallen and retrieved its halberd. Testing the balance she made a few tentative slashes in the air. Chuckling to herself she let the weapon fall back into the murky sewer water and walked toward the exit that she had seen Ileira escape through. A loud, rapid croaking noise echoing down the passage stopped her dead even before the stench of rotting fish assaulted her nostrils.

"What now?" she said to herself.

The croaking slowed in its rhythm and Anya felt the fine hairs on her arms rise as if magnetised. A figure moved in the darkness ahead of her, vaguely man-shaped but far too rotund to be her half-elven friend. The mercenary drew her sword and slowly backed toward the centre of the room.

"Kirath?" she asked, squinting at the silhouette.

"Hkirasshhh?" came the hissing reply, the pitch raised at the end in a mocking imitation of the woman's question.

"Hkirasshhh," came a second hissing reply from close behind.

Anya whirled at the sound and found herself eye to bulbous eye with what she at first thought was a giant fish. She stared the thing in the eyes and retreated a few steps, mindful of the second creature approaching from the passage behind her. A weapon moved in the fishman's webbed and taloned hand, drawing Anya's attention. It was a polearm similar to the gnoll's halberd but where the beastman's weapon was tipped with a blade, this was tipped with a viciously gnashing metal claw. Gangly legs supported the creature's finely scaled body, its unblinking eyes sitting each side of its head. Wiry lips parted to show rows of needle-like teeth beneath two small nasal holes as Anya slowly sidestepped her way towards the only unobstructed exit to the room.

The kuo-toa seemed content to let the woman inch her way to freedom, instead choosing to walk equally as slowly towards the second fishman. Anya felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand as the two creatures closed the distance between each other. She backed further away, sword levelled with both hands, ready to receive any attack. The croaking noise she had heard from the passage increased its tempo again, vibrations noticeable in the throats of the two creatures. As the fishmen moved closer each held an arm toward the other. Now just a few steps from touching, Anya felt the loose red hairs across her head begin to rise. The sensation unnerved her almost as much as the bright flash of light that passed between the outstretched fingers of the fishmen. A second flash lit the room for a moment and wisps of light played around the hands of the kuo-toa as they touched. The creature with the clawed staff instantly became bathed in strings of bright blue energy that coalesced in the weapon grasped in its taloned hand. With a screech that chilled Anya to her bones the kuo-toa thrust the end of the staff in her direction causing the light to leap from the clawed tip.

Years of fighting for coin had taught the mercenary many things, one of the most important was to act first - think later. Before she was even aware of it her body had flung itself against a wall, a thunderclap threw stone chips against the side of her face as the lightning bolt struck the bricks behind her. She cried out, as much to hear something other than croaking and thunder than in fear or frustration. Slapping sounds shot a stab of genuine fear through her. She turned toward the room to confirm what she already knew, the fishmen were coming for her.

* * *

"So who was he?" Neysea ventured, the expectation of her question being ignored forcing more than a little nonchalance into her voice.

Targon turned his head and looked at the woman walking beside him. It seemed that he had met her a lifetime ago. He had become so accustomed to her presence over the last few weeks that her innocent questions had bled themselves into the bothersome interrogations that his past friends and acquaintances had heaped upon him. _Why are you doing that Targon? Why are you so angry Targon? Targon, what is your problem? Do you need any help Targon?_ It was relentless and the more Targon tried to explain his feelings the more questions people threw at him until he'd finally had enough and chose to ignore them. Most people had since given up and just accepted him the way he was. But Neysea couldn't know about his past, resenting her for caring about him wasn't fair to her. He also had no idea how long the four companions would be stuck together and he knew that maintaining a healthy relationship in such circumstances was important.

Taking a deep breath the ranger answered, "He was a wizard. Someone I knew not long ago."

Neysea walked in silence.

"Only a few months before I met you actually," he smiled and hoped it looked genuine. Neysea didn't look up.

"And you wished death upon him? When you found his body... like that, you were disappointed, not saddened."

The ranger sighed heavily and flexed his shoulders. "Neysea I don't expect you to understand. In fact I expect you to _not_ understand."

Silence again, though the woman kept pace beside him.

Targon sighed once more, letting the air flap his lips as he exhaled. "Okay. He was called Chrotor and he created... things, slaves from people. Dead people. Like the ones we fought, the skeletons and the zombies. He made those abominations." He paused, letting the rising anger disperse like smoke on the wind. "He was using them to slaughter travellers heading through Secomber. His creatures would slay anyone they could catch and then the wizard looted the corpses. A common bandit who lacked the backbone to do the heavy lifting himself. I was given the task of tracking and killing the bastard. Obviously I failed."

"What happened?" Neysea asked softly.

"We found his lair easily enough, skeletons and zombies lack a certain finesse and Chrotor didn't bother trying to hide their tracks. But once we found the man himself we were ambushed. The sounds were..." Targon trailed off, his unfocussed eyes seeing back to that fateful day. Blinking quickly the ranger continued. "He was so powerful. Much more than any of us had imagined. There were six of us, two made it back to the surface but by the time we had reached Secomber Wen had already begun to atrophy. She was diseased in the confrontation and her body wasted away before my eyes."

"Gods," Neysea breathed.

"But he's dead now. Undone by his own cursed experiments," Targon forced another smile.

"Yet that doesn't bring you peace."

"Of course it doesn't!" Targon felt his rage building again. "I lost five friends and a God's cursed dead _kobold_ succeeded where I failed! It should have been me!" He took another deep breath and tried to calm himself. "It should have been me."

"I understand," Neysea said simply.

Targon scoffed. "How could you possibly understand?"

The woman stole a quick glance over her shoulder at Kathra and Falhnen. She smiled at the two before looking back at Targon with a touch of sadness in her eyes. "Some other time."


End file.
